


Untitled (Aka: The Music Fic)

by pippinmctaggart



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Childhood Memories, Gen, Melancholy, Nostalgia, Parental Death, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-01-14
Updated: 2007-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippinmctaggart/pseuds/pippinmctaggart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This began far too long ago from a single line in another fic of mine, <i>Silent Apologies</i>. The line was "Billy had too much music inside him for it to ever be constrained or fully contained." Several people mentioned being struck by that line, and after thinking about it for some time, the music fic was born. This is Billy/Dom, but barely. Really, it's about Billy.</p><p>This fic is very, very dear to my heart. It's different from anything else I've ever written, and I'm not sure why, but I really love it, and I'm very proud of it. Despite Billy ruining parts of it by giving opposite information in his interviews, damn him. :P</p><p>So if you have ideas, suggestions, feedback, concrit, anything at all, I would really appreciate hearing it. This is a story I very much want to finish, but I've gotten badly stalled. I began by trying to stick as firmly as I could to "real" Billy, but over the years we've learned more about him that just hasn't fit in with my story, so it's become quite AU. For all that, I'd really like for it to still ring as true as possible, you know? I'd like to know what you truly think.</p><p><b>A/N: Please note, this is a WIP.</b> Has not had the final workover it sorely needs, but has been lovingly encouraged along the way by the marvellous <span class="ljuser i-ljuser i-ljuser-type-P"><a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://elmathelas.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://elmathelas.livejournal.com/"><b>elmathelas</b></a></span>. All mistakes are most definitely mine.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This began far too long ago from a single line in another fic of mine, _Silent Apologies_. The line was "Billy had too much music inside him for it to ever be constrained or fully contained." Several people mentioned being struck by that line, and after thinking about it for some time, the music fic was born. This is Billy/Dom, but barely. Really, it's about Billy.
> 
> This fic is very, very dear to my heart. It's different from anything else I've ever written, and I'm not sure why, but I really love it, and I'm very proud of it. Despite Billy ruining parts of it by giving opposite information in his interviews, damn him. :P
> 
> So if you have ideas, suggestions, feedback, concrit, anything at all, I would really appreciate hearing it. This is a story I very much want to finish, but I've gotten badly stalled. I began by trying to stick as firmly as I could to "real" Billy, but over the years we've learned more about him that just hasn't fit in with my story, so it's become quite AU. For all that, I'd really like for it to still ring as true as possible, you know? I'd like to know what you truly think.
> 
>  **A/N: Please note, this is a WIP.** Has not had the final workover it sorely needs, but has been lovingly encouraged along the way by the marvellous [](http://elmathelas.livejournal.com/profile)[**elmathelas**](http://elmathelas.livejournal.com/). All mistakes are most definitely mine.

_"This came in the post for you yesterday, Bills." Dom handed him an envelope._

_Billy stood in the living room of his New Zealand home and pulled an old, slightly dog-eared photograph from the envelope his cousin in Scotland had sent. Curious, he looked at it, and then his knees gave out, and he sat down rather quickly._

_"Billy?" Dom asked, concerned. "What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."_

 

 

Billy’s mum had always given him two pieces of advice that he steadfastly adhered to, even as an adult. Always think of your friends first, and never stop singing, and well, there was the one about always wearing clean underpants, too, but Billy didn’t think that little morsel of advice had been uniquely for him.

Billy’s mum had also always said that when God had been handing out music, Billy’s dad had stood in line twice, giving him not only the gift of song, but the voice of an angel. And Billy had stood in line three times, the cheeky little monkey, but how that was to play out she surely couldn’t say. She’d said it when he was six and singing schoolyard songs in the small sitting room at the top of his lungs because he’d just learned them, and she’d said it with such a combination of love and pride and exasperation that Billy had never forgotten it, not even when he grew up and _saw_ how it was to play out.

It was a refrain that was to be oft-repeated; often enough, in fact, that when he and Margaret had one of their rare but prize-winning fights she would use it against him, shouting too bad he hadn’t tried standing in line for _brains_ once. One time--and thank God their mother hadn’t been home to hear it--she’d been so furious with him she’d accused him of using his music to make their mum love him best, and then she’d started crying, and Billy had hugged her and told her he was sorry and then he’d shown her where their mum's supposedly secret hiding place for the biscuits was. And he’d stopped singing around the house _all the time_. Which he rather suspected--being a wise lad of ten--was probably a relief to his mum, since their musical tastes had diverged a little ways back.

His dad had taken a proprietary air towards his son’s musical talents, and insisted on teaching him all the old songs from an early age, and by seven Billy could flawlessly sing _Scotland the Brave_ , his high sweet voice piping away. By nine he’d begun to explore his ability to inject emotion in his music, and was satisfactorily able to follow the arc of songs like _The Scottish Soldier_ and to infuse comedy into _I Belong to Glasgow_. When his mum discovered he’d learned that drunken drinking song, she threw up her hands, and he rather suspected his dad got a bit of a bollocking for teaching it to him, but she never ordered him not to sing it. In fact, she never ordered him not to sing anything, even the modern dross she so detested.

When Billy was ten, his parents held a Hogmanay party. Margaret went to a friend's for the night, but Billy was too young to stay the night away, so he was allowed to see in the New Year to make up for the disappointment, and because he was going to perform for them. It had been his idea, and both his mum and dad had been enthusiastic from the moment he told them his big plan of songs and impersonations. Billy could impersonate a score of characters from TV and the movies, and he delighted in showing off his talents, and his show, as he called it from that moment on, was going to be the best part of the night, they’d see. Smiling indulgently, his parents assured him that yes, they knew they would. And so when his dad, who’d built him a little platform with scrap wood he’d brought home from the brewery, when his dad introduced him in a grand voice to their guests, gathered from throughout the house and crammed into the little sitting room and peering in the doorway from the hall, Billy swallowed down a sudden flight of butterflies and stepped onto his little stage. He sang _By Clyde’s Bonnie Banks_ , a song about an explosion in a colliery near Glasgow that had killed hundreds of miners, and he sang it so sweetly, so mournfully, that he saw one of his mum’s friends wipe away tears. And that put paid to the butterflies. But the highlight of the evening was when he surprised his dad by asking him to sing with him, and although his dad smilingly refused at first, wanting the show to be Billy’s, Billy kept insisting until finally he agreed, and together, with their angel voices garnered by sneaking back into line, they sang _The Bluebells of Scotland_. It brought the house down, so to speak.

When he was twelve he was asked to sing at the local kirk’s Christmas Eve service, and his mum had dressed him in his best suit and told him to make sure to keep his arms at his sides like a gentleman, but he knew it was to cover up where the hand-me-down jacket from a cousin had been patched up. He didn’t mind. The last thing he wanted when he was twelve was to be dragged out shopping for a new suit with his mum. So he’d stood up in front of the full pews and kept his arms at his sides so his mum, seated with his dad and sister on the aisle about halfway back, wouldn’t be embarrassed. And he’d sung _Adeste Fidelis_ , making his dad beam with pride, because they’d worked hard for weeks to get his Latin pronunciation up to snuff. When he was twelve, Billy didn’t wonder why his dad knew how to pronounce Latin, but he did as an adult, and was sometimes a little sad that he’d never find out. After the Latin he’d sung _It Came Upon A Midnight Clear_ , and then--of course-- _Silent Night_. And afterwards everyone had told him how wonderfully he’d sung, and he thanked them, but he already knew. After all, hadn’t he stood in line to get music from God three times? And he was glad he’d sung those high, clear songs when he did, because that March his voice started to change, and he never was able to hit those pure notes again. But by that time, his parents had started to encourage his burgeoning interest in acting as well, and his dad found him an amateur theatre company at the Dolphin Art Centre and bought him a second-hand copy of the complete works of Shakespeare, so that was okay.

When Billy was thirteen and in his second year of high school, his mum told him his dad was sick. It was just the two of them, walking the long way back from the shops on a Saturday, and Billy had been carrying two heavy bags in each hand, and he was horribly afraid he was going to drop them when she said cancer. She told him she was trusting him with this knowledge, that he was old enough to know, and that she'd told Margaret that morning. Margaret was a year and a half older than Billy; she knew what cancer was, but Billy's mum didn't think Margaret understood what that _meant_ yet, what it _really_ meant, for all of them. But Billy did. And he tried desperately to be a grown up thirteen, and he managed until he was stretched on his stomach in his bed alone that night, and then he cried. And somehow his mum knew, even though he cried into his pillow and didn’t disturb the night with so much as a snuffle, somehow she knew and she came to him and closed the door and comforted him with her arms around him and stroking his hair while he wept angrily in her lap. And she sang him a lullaby, and even though his mum had only stood in line for music once, it was the most beautiful song Billy had ever heard and he kept it snugly in his heart to the end of his days. But that night it dried his tears, softened his anger, and then they talked. His mum told him they weren’t sure how long, but it was too far gone for anything to be done because his dad never _had_ liked going to the doctor, had he, but it would be at least a few months, time enough to say everything that needed to be said. And Billy was stunned, because he’d been thinking in terms of a few years, and his lip started to quiver again, but she saw and told him if he was brave and strong, he could pack a lifetime of music into those few months, store up enough love to last him his whole life. So Billy had straightened his back and wiped his eyes and promised his mum he would. She warned him it wouldn’t be easy, it would be harder than any of them could imagine, because the cancer was in his dad’s lungs and he couldn’t sing any more, so Billy would have to learn his father’s songs in other ways, would have to work hard on his sight-reading, would have to sing them alone. But his father would still listen, would still point out his mistakes and teach Billy how to correct them. And he must never stop singing because his father knew the gift that Billy had in him and wanted it to grow, to fill him throughout his whole life, his mum told him, and he knew he’d never hear that from his dad, those just weren’t words his dad could say to him, but he knew it was true all the same.

For two months, Billy came straight home after school three days a week, now that his dad was on the disability. His dad refused to let him come back early more often, saying Billy needed to spend some time with the lads, too, and he’d better have a good game of footie at least once a week or he’d know why not. He’d been smiling when he said it, and Billy had grinned back and said yes, sir, and that he and the lads hadn’t been beaten in almost a month and they were trying to top Rangers’ current incredible streak of six matches straight, and his dad had laughed, and then coughed, and Billy had quietly gotten his mum.

The other two days of the week, of course, were for Margaret. Billy didn’t know for sure what they got up to on their days together, but he imagined it involved reading a lot because Margaret was an insatiable reader, and so was his father despite his lack of higher ‘edumication’, as he said with the wry grin that he'd passed on to his son--the same grin that decades later would be in magazines and on movie screens worldwide. Which was why he told both Billy and Margaret that it was important for them to carry on with their schooling. University was the way to go, he said firmly, pick a subject you love and study everything you can about it and talk with likeminded people and argue with those who hold opposing views and with student loans you can do it, and he told them get a degree so you don’t wind up pissing your life away in the brewery. And then he had collected himself, and told them to go get their supper.

So for two months, Billy came straight home after school three days a week, and sang for his dad. He sang all the Scottish folk songs he could find, and his dad helped him with his phrasing, with his interpretation, with his technique, and suggested new songs to look for. Fortunately, one of the three times he’d lined up to be given music from God, Billy had received nearly perfect pitch and he hardly ever went flat, usually only when his ears were full with a cold, and luckily he didn’t get a cold for the next two months. His dad sat in his chair by the window, fully dressed, hair combed, and taught his son to sing. He even sometimes, while Billy had his tea, would tell Billy about his time in America, about singing in the nightclubs, about living in Detroit, and how in some ways it was so very foreign, so alien, but in other ways it was just like Glasgow, and that was one reason so much of his family had settled there. And Billy promised if he ever got to leave Scotland, he’d go to Detroit and stay with them and get them to show him all the clubs his dad had sung in. The thought seemed to make his dad happy for a moment--and then sad, and they’d changed the subject.

Then things changed, just a little at first, like the time Billy had come home early to find his dad seated, as usual, in his chair by the window but wearing his dressing gown at three-thirty in the afternoon, but that had been just one day and the next was back to normal. Those days kept happening, though, more and more frequently, until soon the dressing gown was normal. But still the lessons continued, and Billy’s singing filled the house--and truth be told, the neighbours’ on either side, because after all the walls were like cardboard, but they never complained. Sometimes Billy would sing whichever traditional song he’d been working on, but then, just to entertain his dad, he would switch it up and sing something from the old nightclub days as a surprise. _Just The Way You Look Tonight_ , perhaps, or _For Me and My Gal_ , or _Somewhere Beyond the Sea_. When he was thirteen, Billy didn’t see the romantic streak in his dad, didn’t wonder if he’d sung those songs for Billy’s mum, if he’d wooed her by singing those beautiful candyfloss classics, but when Billy grew up he did wonder, and wished he’d thought to ask.

And then finally, of course, things changed a lot, and Billy came home every day directly after school, and didn’t go to the Dolphin Art Centre on weekends to play at being someone else, but hung out in the living room where his dad lay on the sofa with the oxygen tube under his nose. Sometimes he sang for him, although the lessons were no more, sometimes he and Margaret watched TV sitting on the floor leaning against the sofa, trying not to jump when a hand rested unexpectedly on top of their head, trying not to be scared when his coughing grew wet and suckingly thick. Billy always had a song ready in case his dad wanted one, and he’d left the old standards by the wayside in favour of the even older traditional Scottish songs that his dad loved so much. The last song Billy ever sang his dad was _The Bluebells of Scotland_ , and they remembered the Hogmanay party, and after that he was in the hospital and Billy couldn’t sing for fear of disturbing the other patients. He never sang _The Bluebells of Scotland_ ever again.

The horrid, draining, fearful, exhausting time in the hospital lasted two and a half weeks. It took feats of organization to accomplish, because much as she wanted to be there for her children when they got home from school, his mum didn’t--couldn’t--leave the hospital. And she didn’t want the weans, as she named them to her husband, making him smile under the mask, she didn’t want the weans spending too much time in the critical care ward. It was frightening enough to an adult, she said, and he squeezed her hand in agreement. So after school Billy and Margaret went home to where Gran awaited them with genuine but reserved love, with tea, and with routine. They would eat, do their homework, play a little, perhaps--although neither really felt like it--and then retreat to their rooms, Margaret to read and Billy to pour over his Shakespeare and hum songs to himself so he wouldn’t forget them. Sometimes Margaret came in after a while, bringing her book with her, and sat on his bed reading while he did whatever it was he was working on at his desk, humming away, and then when he finished he would sit beside her on the bed, leaning against the wall, and she would ask him about his day. And they would wait for their mum to come home, listen for the low murmur of conversation to drift up the stairs, wait for the front door to shut signaling the departure of the outsider. They loved their Gran, she was--well, she was their Gran, and they knew she loved them as only a grandmother could and they loved her too, dearly, but their dad was dying and they needed their mum’s warmth and hugs and kisses, and they didn’t get them with Gran around. Gran frowned on excessive hugs and kisses, it seemed, and when she was around their mum was quite sparing with them. So when the front door shut they would hurry downstairs and greet their mum and sit her down because she looked so tired and Billy would make her a cup of tea while Margaret put away the few things her mum had picked up at the shops on the way home. She would drink her tea and listen to the stories of their day, something they never used to do, and when the tea was gone she would be a little more energetic and would welcome them with open arms to shower them with kisses, something else they never used to do, making Margaret giggle and Billy roll his eyes until his mum saw and tweaked his nose and he grinned at her. Once during the week and again on Saturdays she would take them over to the hospital to visit their dad, and they would stand awkwardly by the bed while their mother chatted quietly but cheerfully to him, and he would reach out and take their hands, and they would hold his. Billy would tell him a little about the recent footie game or what song he was working on and whether it was giving him trouble or not, and Margaret would tell him about her best friend at school or about the big project she was working on for geography. And then they would tell their dad they loved him very much and their mum would take them home.

And then one day when Billy and Margaret walked up their street, Billy singing a new song he was working on so his sister could hear it, Billy noticed their car parked by the kerb. He stopped singing and fear nearly paralyzed him and his throat closed up because it was the middle of the afternoon and their mum should be at the hospital. And he knew.

The night after the funeral Billy and Margaret slept in their mum’s bed. Margaret went because she was sad, but Billy was doing it because he was worried for his mum. He knew she’d been alone for the last few weeks, the last month nearly, but it seemed wrong that she should be on that night, and so he’d gone in to her, taking Margaret with him, and they’d crawled in with their mum and she’d held them ever so tightly, and they’d all been so very silent.

For weeks afterward, Billy didn’t sing in the house. It upset Margaret because he sounded almost exactly like their dad and she missed him so much and didn’t see how Billy could even _want_ to sing, didn’t understand that he needed to keep singing the songs he’d gotten from his dad, didn’t understand that when he stood in line three times, he’d been filled to the brim with music and his dad would have been pissed as hell if Billy had bottled it up. And he didn’t sing in the house in case his mum heard--but only because of how he sounded, who he sounded like. His mum understood that he had to keep singing and she encouraged him to do so, even driving him across the city to browse a sale on sheet music. But the one time he’d tried to sing for her, her eyes had filled so quickly that he stopped, and it was months before he sang for her again.

But sing he did, usually while he walked home from school. He kept to the routine of coming home right after school three days a week because he was the man of the house now, and there were things he had to do, like take out the rubbish and collect the mail and have tea with Margaret because their mum was back at work and she seemed to work later than she used to and didn’t get home until nearly supper now and sometimes even later, and on those nights Billy and Margaret made supper too. Billy tried to ignore the terrible thought that whispered in his brain late at night that maybe she stayed at work on purpose, maybe the house made her too sad, or maybe he did. It bothered him so much that one night when she had been especially late, he diffidently asked why she was working so much more than she used to, just casually so she didn’t have to answer if it was bad. And she’d spoken to him like an adult and said things were just a bit tight in the pocketbook now that they didn’t have their dad’s weekly disability cheque, so she was working longer hours at the car-hire firm to bring in a bit extra. And Billy had been nearly giddy with relief and had to squeeze the back of a chair to keep from smiling because if he smiled now his mum would surely ask why and he couldn’t tell her of his dark and childish little fears. Instead he’d said earnestly, because everything he said to his mum these days was in earnest, he’d said maybe he could get a job after school, maybe someone would hire him to deliver groceries on his bike, or something, and the thought was actually kind of exciting, the thought of having a job, but then his mum had gone very still, and Billy faltered. He thought maybe she was mad, although he didn’t know why that might be, until he realized she was trying not to cry, and he patted her on the shoulder and said it’s okay, Mum, and then she _had_ cried, but laughed at the same time, so that was all right, really. And then she said he most certainly was _not_ getting a job, not at thirteen, but she was ever so proud of him for offering to help. And he said okay, but maybe they could stop buying his sheet music, it was awfully expensive, and she’d looked outraged until he quickly said just for now, and it’s not like he’d stop singing, he’d just learn songs off the radio instead. And he’d grinned that grin at her and said it was time he learned a song younger than Gran anyway, and his mum laughed as he had intended her to, and kissed him, and agreed, and said just don’t ever stop singing. And Billy said he wouldn’t.

 

 

_"And you never have stopped singing, have you, Bill?" Dom said quietly. "You've kept your promise to your mum. Oh, Billy, I'm so sorry about your dad--"_

_Billy didn't meet Dom's eyes. "I'm famished. Fancy some bacon and eggs for breakfast, Dom?"_

_Dom floundered for a minute. "But--but what's that picture from? The one you got in the post this morning?"_

_Billy bit at his thumb for a moment, and then rose to his feet, tucking the old photo in his shirt pocket. "C'mon. Come help me make breakfast, and I'll tell you some more."_

 

 

Billy learned songs off the radio, and he sang while he walked home from school, but quietly and only if he was alone, because a small bloke who sang a lot was likely to get the shite beat out of him by the bigger lads who hung out on the sidewalks, so when he was caught he learned quickly to joke his way out of it. And on the few occasions when his wits weren’t quite enough, Billy discovered he could also run like the wind, and he thought it was probably his music, the singing making his lungs big and strong in his small chest. But he had to joke a lot, because he sang a lot, and nothing would get you pummeled faster except maybe saying you fancied lads or something, and when he was older Billy sometimes--just once in a while, when something brought it to mind--wondered if any of those strapping lads saw him in the papers, saw the pictures and read the articles about his success and said, _I went to school with that bloke, we used to trip him up on his way home for being a daft little tosser, always singing he was_. Billy wondered if they ever thought maybe they should have tried a little harder to catch him and batter him about a bit when they read in the papers that he fancied lads. Not that he knew that himself, not when he was thirteen, he didn’t.

 

_Dom looked up from the eggs he was cracking into a bowl. "Billy, don't," he said, strangely angry. "Times have changed."_

_Billy looked at him fondly, if a bit sadly. "Not that much, they haven't."_

_"It's not my fault that photographer caught us kissing, okay? I'm sorry. But I will not stand for anyone saying anything to you in hate, I won't--"_

_"Shh, you silly tit." Billy crossed the kitchen to drop a small kiss on Dom's lips. "Of course it wasn't your fault, don't be daft. I don't care that people know about us, in fact I'm glad we've been made public. It doesn't mean that some fucking neds wouldn't've beaten the shite out of me for it, though; hell, in nineteen eighty-one I likely would've been half killed. I didn't know I was gay when I was thirteen, Dom, but I do now, and I'm not thirteen anymore."_

 

In fact, when he was thirteen, he and his mates were discovering that if you looked at a lass right, if you teased her just so, if you played it cool then told her she was awful pretty, she’d let you snog her, and that was kind of good, in a messy, wet sort of way. Billy found he could get there faster with the teasing and a bit of a song off the radio, and he kissed more girls that year than any of his mates did. It was fun, and he enjoyed it, but he never felt the need to ‘go around’ with any of them, never liked one so much more than the others. What he _did_ like was that a few of them would talk about music with him, and not rib him mercilessly for his singing like even his mates did. And one of them changed his life forever.

Fiona, her name was, a dark-haired Pictish little thing who surely had gotten in line to receive music from God more than once herself, because she was twelve and a half and although she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket vocally, she played classical guitar like the instrument was an extension of her body, and it was the closest Billy had come to feeling something beyond casual interest in a girl. He actually had a bit of a crush, but when she started teaching him simple chords he realized his crush was as much on Fee’s guitar as Fee herself. But that was okay because she treated him just like a mate and they got on like a house on fire, as his mum said after he had brought Fiona and her guitar over after school one day. And his mum had silently watched from the doorway as her son played his chords, played the arpeggios Fee was teaching him, watched as Billy’s fingers quickly became proficient with the strings themselves. And although Billy had no idea, because he was comparing himself to a musician with five years of classical training even if she _was_ only twelve and a half, he was a natural, and his mum saw it and wondered if there were any way to find him a guitar, because his music was trying to find its way out in other directions.

A few weeks after that, after his ‘lessons’ with Fee had progressed so remarkably quickly, Billy’s mum sat him down for a talk. She sat at the kitchen table with him, she with her tea and he with a ‘Bru, and she asked him what he wanted. Billy frowned, confused, and she said with his music--was there anything beyond singing he wanted to do, and poor not-quite fourteen year old Billy thought she meant for the rest of his life and he stammered and felt guilty for not knowing what he wanted when he was old and grey and 40, until finally his mum realized what he was struggling with and laughed kindly at him and said no, love, not forever, just for now. And he relaxed, and he thought, and he said well, everything, really, but he probably couldn’t do that, could he? His mum had smiled and said no, not quite everything, perhaps. And Billy had thought some more and said he did love to play the guitar, and maybe next year at school they’d let him play electric guitar in the band, but he didn’t know if you had to have your own, and it was going to be a long time before he saved up enough money to buy his own guitar, so he’d just play Fee’s for now, when she let him. His mom looked sad, and proud, and something else as well, and Billy didn’t know why she should look that way. It wasn’t until much later, until he was much older and had felt those things himself, that he realized what had been behind those expressions on her face, and he wished with all his heart that he had been able to share his good fortune, share his wealth both figuratively and literally with his mum, and with his dad too, but when he thought about it, it was always those expressions of pride, and loneliness, and failure on his mum’s face that came to mind. His mum had reached across the table and touched his cheek, just once, lightly, and then asked was there anything else he wanted to do, and he’d blushed a little and said he’d started trying to write his own music, only it was a bit hard trying to write it without knowing exactly which key he was singing in, so he thought he might pick up a pitch pipe, just for that first note, just so he’d know if he was starting on E or F, and he said it quickly like he thought he should be scolded for not knowing exactly what note he was starting on. And his mum had smiled and shook her head and said it sounded like a good idea, and if he ever wanted to sing her something he’d written, if he wanted to try it out on an audience, she would be pleased beyond words to listen. And Billy had flushed again and nodded and said all right, maybe soon.

All the time Billy was singing, and kissing girls, and doing chores around the house, he was also acting and building sets and collecting props for his theatre group at the Dolphin Art Centre, usually on Saturdays, and sometimes if his mum was home in time, she’d take him over for a rare weeknight as well. Billy loved just being in the Centre, loved the smell, the dust trapped in the curtains, the faint must rising from the well-worn seats, and when they were building, the smell of sawn lumber. He even tried his hand at set painting, and while he perhaps wasn’t born to it like he was to music, his dexterous fingers allowed him to be precise at fine work and the directors and set designers over the years he was there appreciated the details he added. But beyond having fun, which he most certainly was, Billy was carefully watching the adults around him, those who did this as a hobby but were very very good at it, and he paid particular attention when they had guests in from local professional theatres and he soaked up what they said like rain in the desert, and he realized when he was a little older and learning these things formally that he’d latched onto those adults who were teaching him because he missed his dad’s enthusiasm, and his mum tried, but she was busy and tired and Margaret needed her an awful lot, poor thing. He was glad he’d had them instead of people who might have taught him something very different indeed.

One summer evening, Billy’s music got him into trouble. So much trouble, in fact, his mum grounded him for a week, and Billy had never been grounded before, and as much as he knew he deserved it, it still made him mad because he’d miss a footie game and an entire Saturday at the theatre, thanks to being grounded. But his mum had been furious and told him maybe that would make him think twice before out and out disobeying her again, because she wasn’t going to stand for that kind of behaviour and he’d better just smarten up, young man, and then he’d stormed up to his room and slammed the door and thrown himself on his back on the bed. All because he went to the park to hear a little music. Well, okay, he admitted grudgingly, maybe it _was_ a park halfway across the city and he’d taken the bus alone. And okay, maybe he didn’t get home until almost eleven, and that was after dark, even taking into account the late Scottish nights at midsummer, and yes, his mum had said he couldn’t be out past nine, not unless he was with his mates on their street where she could find him, and even then nine-thirty was the latest she let him stay out. As his anger cooled, because Billy was never one to stay angry for long, not unless it was a true rage, which he wouldn’t experience for a few months yet, Billy thought about how long that hour and a half might have seemed to his mum, not knowing where he was. He was the man of the house now and she needed him even though there was lots he couldn’t do yet, and he felt bad, and he knew he’d been grounded as much for scaring her as disobeying her. So yeah, maybe he deserved it. But still--he had really, really wanted to go, to see this famous jazz band playing in the park because it was a special concert and it was free and Billy thought it might be the only time in his life he ever got to see them, and he knew some jazz, but only the old stuff. He needed to learn about modern jazz too, and everything in between, to see what it meant, what it felt like, what it did to the music inside him, if it changed how he heard the music in his head. So after getting home from Gran’s, because he and Margaret were spending their days at Gran’s during the summer, he’d asked his mum, but she was too tired and said no, it was too far for him to go on his own, and the knowledge that this music was there and waiting for him just ate at him until finally he had to go anyway, and so he went. And that night after he’d been grounded, when he heard his mum come slowly up the stairs to bed, he opened his door and poked his head out and whispered Mum? Her head had come up, she’d seen him hugging the doorframe, his pyjamas rumpled and his hair mussed and looking much younger than almost-fourteen. She’d frowned, but more in concern than anger, and he’d beckoned her closer and she’d gone to him and stroked the hair back from his forehead and kissed it, and that’s when he knew he’d been right. She asked him what he was still doing up, and he said he was sorry, Mum. Sorry that he’d worried her by staying out so late. And she looked down at him and said he shouldn’t have made her worry like that, he was her only boy and she didn’t know what she’d do without him. And Billy hugged her and said he wouldn’t worry her again, he promised, only don’t be mad, Mum, okay? And she finally smiled a little and said she wasn’t mad, not anymore, and was he still angry with her for grounding him? And he said no, not angry, but--but--he’d _had_ to go, Mum, he didn’t do it just to disobey her and he didn’t do it just because she’d said no, and he spoke quickly, his whispered words rushing over each other as he tried to explain that pull inside him, that need to hear this music that was so unfamiliar to him. And he fancied maybe she understood, at least a little, because she’d looked directly down into his eyes and asked was it worth it? And he’d said not worrying her, no...but yeah, everything else was worth it, it was brilliant, Mum, and he wished she could have heard it, he wished she’d been there with him and heard the music he heard. And she kissed his forehead again, her hand on the back of his head, and she said she wished she had, too. Then she gave him a little push into his room and said now go to sleep, they’d talk more tomorrow.

So Billy had been grounded for a week, and despite their conversation in the hall, even though Billy had been half-hoping she’d relent and let him go to the theatre, if not play footie, he stayed grounded, right through to the end. But his mum tried to come home from work a bit earlier that week, knowing it was hard for Billy to stay cooped up in the house that much, especially in summer, especially at Gran’s, and she’d kept him occupied in the evenings with music and even games, and Billy almost didn’t mind being grounded when he saw him mum looking just a bit less tired and laughing like that. And it made all the difference in the world for Margaret, too, he saw, and he wondered if she still missed their dad as much as those dark days after the funeral, when he saw how Margaret almost never let their mum out of her sight that whole week, how she laughed when her mum laughed, and she was quiet when her mum was quiet. And it unsettled him a bit, and he wondered if his mum noticed, if he should maybe say something, but he decided no, she’d just missed their mum a bit, and of course she missed their dad, so she must be just a bit lonely. He thought that although it was often kind of boring having a sister, maybe for a little while he’d offer to hang out with her, maybe go with her to the library while she signed out more of her books, or invite her along when he and the lads rode their bikes over to the park. She was a good bike rider, she’d keep up, even though she was shorter than they were by inches. But he drew the line at playing dollies with her, he swore to himself, forgetting for a moment that she was older than he was and had left dollies behind long ago.

So after his grounding was over, and his mum gave him a little lecture on responsibility that went in one ear and out the other because Billy had never been very good at listening to lectures, although in this case he didn’t really need it, not really, as he was a pretty responsible lad for a fourteen year old--and his mum knew it too--afterward he tried to spend a bit more time with Margaret. Instead of taking off from Gran’s with his mates in the morning, returning for lunch, and then bolting out the door again until it was time to go home, Billy watched a bit of TV with her, walked with her to the library, went with her out of the scheme to the store to buy crisps and soda. She had some friends nearby too, girls she went to school with, and she happily spent many hours with them as well, but it seemed to Billy she was nearly back to her old self when she was with him. She even asked him to teach her a few songs, and since Margaret had shown very little interest in singing, or even in listening to _him_ sing and that probably had something to do with growing up listening to him singing all the time at home, when she asked him if he’d teach her something she could sing at school in the fall, he was pleased, and even a little proud that maybe his older sister looked up to him a bit. And he’d taught her a few sweet ballads that suited her clear sweet voice, and he was surprised to find she had quite a nice voice, really, much like their mum’s, and he told her so and she beamed.


	2. Chapter 2

At the end of August, just before school began again, it was Billy’s fourteenth birthday. He thought his mum might try and do something special, this being his first birthday without his dad, and he didn’t really want her to, he didn’t want to make it a big deal and make it all weird, he just wanted to be with his mum and Margaret, although he wouldn’t say no to a pizza if it showed up at the door. But he didn’t quite know how to say that, because if she’d already started planning something it might hurt her feelings, and he didn’t want to do that, not when she was still working lots and was so tired. So he just crossed his fingers and hoped that his mum would somehow know, like she somehow knew so many things, and he was so glad when the day before his birthday his mum said Billy’s uncle was joining them for dinner tomorrow night, and was that all right with Billy? He said yes, mum, that sounds brilliant. And she had smiled, and he saw that she had known, and it wasn’t going to be a big deal. And he was right, the dinner wasn’t a big deal, although it was a takeaway Chinese, and Billy loved takeaway Chinese as much as he loved pizza, and Billy’s uncle teased Billy in his deep voice, his big hands surprisingly dexterous with the chopsticks, and he taught Billy how to use them too. And it was fun, and it was just different enough to feel special, but not special enough to make it painfully obvious that someone was missing. After dinner, they had the cake that Margaret had made for him, and Billy teased her that it was lopsided, but it wasn’t so bad for a cake made by a little squirt like her, because she may have been almost a year and a half older, but she was three inches shorter than he was. After he’d taken a second piece and Margaret had laughed when he’d dropped it icing down in the middle of the table, after all that they went to the sitting room and Billy’s mum said she was just going to make tea, and his uncle said he’d help her. Billy flopped down on the couch, groaning he was stuffed and he might throw up and Margaret came over to sit on his stomach, telling him it served him right for taking up the whole couch, and he tickled her while she shrieked and breathlessly threatened to let the air out of the tires on his bike again. Their mum and their uncle came back in then, tea in hands, and Billy and Margaret sat up, if not quite properly then at least close to, and took their tea. It was nice for them to see their uncle again, because although he only lived in Edinburgh, they didn’t see him that often. He ran his own shop and kept longer hours than their mum, although his shop did quite well, really, well enough that he could have afforded to hire more staff and not work so much, but Billy’s mum said his shop did so well precisely because he was always there, and Billy wasn’t quite sure why that should be but he believed it. His uncle was a big man, and was warm and friendly and could be fierce as a bear when crossed so no one ever crossed him, not that many people had reason to think of doing so because he was mostly a very kind man. So they sat and talked and drank their tea until after a while Margaret went over and whispered in their mum’s ear and Billy heard the word ‘present’, and their mum smiled and nodded and Margaret hopped back to the sofa and reached underneath and pulled out a wrapped package. She chucked it at Billy, and as their mum scolded her with a smile, Billy lunged at her and grabbed her and dumped her upside down on the sofa beside him while he sat back to open it. Face flushed, she righted herself and watched as he opened her gift, a touch of anxiety in the fingers that plucked at the back of the sofa, until he saw what it was and a pleased smile lit his face and she was relieved. Billy looked at the book of plays and the book about jazz and knew he’d like both of them, and he leaned toward Margaret and bumped her with his arm and said she picked the perfect ones--not a bad job, for a little pipsqueak like her, and Margaret shot back not to worry, Billy, she’d help him with the big words, and their uncle had thrown back his head and laughed loudly. Margaret started shouting with laughter again before Billy’s fingers even got to her ticklish sides, and it took their mum a moment with her fingers pressed against her lips before she could manage a straight face and tell them to settle down a bit. She asked Margaret to give Billy the card, and Margaret scrambled off the sofa to reach underneath again and fish about for a minute before pulling out an envelope and handing it to Billy. Billy was starting to rip it open when he heard his mum ask her brother to bring it in, and he looked up in surprise, wondering what on earth it could be that it wasn’t already in the room, and his mum smiled and gestured him to continue, so he pulled the card out and opened it and read the birthday greetings and then read, in his mum’s neat, girlish handwriting at the bottom, ‘close your eyes’. He looked up at her but she only said go on, then, and Margaret, with a grin on her face, told him to close his daft eyes already, and as he did so, sticking his tongue out at Margaret in the process, he couldn’t help but notice that their mum reprimanded neither for their rather rude behaviour, and wondered why. A moment later he could hear his uncle’s footsteps approaching, heard him warn Billy to keep his eyes closed, now, and then something hard and heavy was being laid in his lap and his uncle was backing away. They left him sitting like that, eyes closed, until he couldn’t stand it any more and he said aw, come on, and Margaret laughed at him again, and his mum said just one more second, and then five seconds later that felt like fifty she said all right, Billy, open your eyes, so he did. And his music grew again.

He looked down at his lap, at a gift-wrapped present on his lap that was the exact size and shape of a guitar, and a flash went off as his uncle took a picture of the shock on his face, but he didn’t even notice, he just sat there staring at it, not daring to hope that it actually _was_ a guitar even as he knew his mum would never play such a cruel trick. And then he looked up at her, bewildered, and she smiled her wide-open smile at him and said well, go on then, open it, Billy. And suddenly his fingers were tearing at the paper and his uncle was taking more pictures and Billy made some sort of half-gasping, half-laughing sound as he uncovered the dark wood of the neck with its gold-coloured strings, the reddish wood lightening to orange in the centre of the body, rounded and wide and deep, and his uncle took another picture of the joy on Billy’s face, and then urged Billy’s mum to sit beside her two children, and he took one more picture of the three of them together, Billy with his guitar on his lap, a picture that Billy didn’t see for nearly twenty years, not until his cousin cleaned out a drawer after the passing of her father and mailed it to him in New Zealand.

 

_"Can I see it again, Bill?" Dom whispered, pushing his empty breakfast plate away._

_Billy took the photo from his shirt pocket, straightening the bent corner with careful fingers. He gazed down at the picture of himself, his mum, and Margaret, all bunched up tight on the sofa and beaming. Then he handed it to Dom across the kitchen table._

_"Look at you. What a cheeky face," Dom said with affection, and then paused, and then murmured, "Your mum was beautiful."_

_Billy nodded. "Yes. She was."_

_"What happened next? What happened right after this picture was snapped?"_

 

 

Billy was hardly aware of the camera as he looked at his mum and said but--but _Mum_ , and she put her hand on the side of his head, her thumb stroking his cheek, and she shook her head and said don’t fret, love, and she would tell him the story of his guitar later, because it really was a bit of a tale, but for now Billy should just thank his uncle, because he was the one who found it for her, and his present to his nephew was sitting at Billy’s feet. And when Billy looked down and saw the small black amplifier at his feet, he truly did gasp and quickly pulled back more paper to see the knobs and then picked up the guitar and looked at its wide edge and found the electric plugin, and he looked up at his uncle in amazement and gratitude and thanked him in a rather shaky voice. And with an indulgent smile his uncle said it was an electric acoustic and that way he could leave it unplugged so as not to drive his poor mum ‘round the bend, but he could plug it in if he was playing at school or if he started a band. And the very suggestion of starting his own band sparked Billy’s imagination, and he had a vision of himself behind a mic in some smoky nightclub somewhere, just like his dad only with not just a band behind him but his own guitar in hand. The thought made him wish fiercely that his dad was there and for the first time that day he was suddenly, deeply sad, but he made sure not to let it show, he looked down at his guitar until he was sure his eyes were clear of it, because it wasn’t fair to them to dim their wonderful, unbelievable surprise with sadness now. And it was just a longing of a moment, anyway, then he was lifting his eyes to his mum’s and grinning and asking if he could plug it in, just to try it, please, and she was smiling at his happiness and excitement and saying of course, just not too loud, they didn’t want to disturb their neighbours. So Margaret grabbed the cord for the amp and plugged it into the wall and Billy took the other cord coiled up on top and plugged one end into the amp, the other into the pickup on the bottom of his guitar, made sure the volume on the amp was low, and then he turned it on. It made a humming noise as it warmed up, and then Billy tentatively plucked a couple strings, ran through one of the arpeggios Fiona had taught him, eyes shining as he said it sounded brilliant, and he played them--a bit roughly, perhaps, but that was no surprise as he had very little practice under his belt and besides he was excited and even a wee bit nervous--he played them a song, and he thought it was maybe the best sound he’d ever heard, and if he’d said it aloud his mum almost certainly would have agreed with him, although she would have perhaps said it was the best sight she’d ever seen. And when he was done, Billy looked at his mum, who had resumed her seat in her chair, and he said Mum--thanks, Mum, it was the best thing he’d been given since God gave him his music, and he was afraid he might make her cry, but no, she smiled back and said believe her, this was from God too.

The next night, after Margaret went to bed, Billy asked his mum to tell him the story of his guitar, because the more he looked at it, and he was looking at it rather a lot, the more expensive he thought it had been and despite his mum telling him not to fret, he was. And he wanted to say something like they could return it and find something else, but he didn’t want to sound like an ungrateful little wretch, because he wasn’t, he was so grateful for that lovely guitar, but he felt more than a little guilty receiving so grand a gift if things were tight in the pocketbook, and he wanted to say that but he didn’t know how. Something in his face must have alerted his mum, though, because she said she thought she told him not to fret? He’d nodded, not meeting her eyes, and she’d sat on the sofa beside him and brought a photo album with her, and Billy frowned, wondering why she was pulling out all these old pictures they’d seen a thousand times. And they looked through it, and she pointed out a number of his aunts and uncles and cousins that lived in Detroit, and a few of them scattered a little farther afield, all his dad’s family blown to the four corners of the earth, and he was starting to get a little impatient, he knew all this, he knew their names, and quite a few had even come over for his dad’s funeral, so he’d seen them only a year ago. And then his mum started telling him how it used to be such a close family, and the love was still there but there was just all this time and distance and when something bad happened, when something truly tragic happened like losing a brother or a cousin or an uncle, then the clan grew more clannish and banded together. Boyds were Boyds no matter what, she said, and the clan motto was ‘Confido’ which means ‘I trust’, and Billy nodded because his dad had told him that before, and his mum said Boyds trust in each other. And Billy said and some of them came over for the funeral, and she said yes, but a lot of them couldn’t make it, and they’d felt terrible, not only for not being able to say goodbye to Billy’s dad, but also for not being able to take care of their little family, of Billy and Margaret and their mum, because that’s what clans do in times of sorrow, they support and sustain, and they felt a bit like they were letting down that Boyd trust. And in these days of difficult economies and oceans of distance, the only real way to support and sustain was to send words, and money. Billy’s mum received nearly twenty letters from relatives, some distant, some not-so-distant, and more than half of them had contained cheques. Someday she’d give the letters to Billy and Margaret, but not just yet, they weren’t quite old enough yet, and they still missed their dad too much, but so many of the letters were full of love for her children, and many of them said use the money for the children. And Billy asked why, Mum? Why for them, why not for her too, when she lost Dad too? That’s mean, that is. And his mum had said no, no Billy, it was kind, actually, not just the money, but... and she hesitated, wondering if he was old enough and thinking yes, unfortunately, he probably was, and she said they were thoughtful enough to spare her pride, they knew she wouldn’t accept, couldn’t use that money for groceries or petrol, or mortgage payments, but she could use it to do something for her children, something to bring them happiness when they had been so sad. And Billy had thought about it for a moment, and slowly nodded, and his mum knew that he understood it well enough, anyway, and then he asked her but what about Margaret? And she had said she still had Margaret’s portion, but she was waiting to see what Margaret really needed, it was important that it be something that would last. And Billy nodded again and said she’d been so sad and quiet that year, and he thought maybe it had been harder for her because she didn’t have music like Billy did, music to keep their dad close and to make her feel better, and Billy’s mum put her arm around him and kissed the top of his head and said she thought he was right, and he was very smart to see that, and don’t think she didn’t know how wonderful a brother he’d been this past year, his Gran had told her how good he’d been to Margaret. And she kissed him again, making him roll his eyes, and smiling, she said it was such a relief to know he was helping his mum like that, that he was grown up enough that she could trust him to look out for his sister, and there would be times in his life where he wouldn’t be able to, for one reason or another, but she hoped he’d always be back after those times, because his sister loved him. And Billy nodded, his fourteen year old boy self not being able to bring himself to say he loved his sister too, but he nodded and his mum knew, and then she said but there was a little more to the tale of his guitar, and he should know it so he knew how much God was watching his music. She said when she asked Billy’s uncle to help her find a guitar, she’d told him Billy wanted an electric guitar, and she’d laughed and said heaven help her with the neighbours, but that was what Billy wanted, and Billy’s uncle had said all right, and two days later he found Billy’s guitar through an advert in the paper and because he’d been able to go over there right away, he was able to get it. And when he told Billy’s mum the whole story, she couldn’t quite believe it because it sounded like something straight out of a movie, or a magazine, because when he got there and saw the guitar, he knew how much it was worth and he was about to thank the owner and leave because they just didn’t have that kind of money, even though it would be perfect because it was electric _and_ acoustic, when the owner asked Billy’s uncle to tell her who it was for. And so Billy’s uncle had said his nephew, a young lad over in Glasgow, and he was going to leave it at that, but she asked him to tell her more and so he had, and she kept asking questions until Billy’s uncle found himself telling her all about Billy, how he’d stood in line for music three times and it filled him and he was searching for ways to use it, and he’d lost his dad who he shared his music with but he was a strong lad and a good lad so he would just keep searching until they found a guitar in their range, and he thanked the owner and stood up to leave and the owner asked what was their range? Billy’s uncle had told her and she had said it was theirs at that price if he wanted it, and Billy’s uncle had sat down again rather quickly, because he knew the guitar was worth more than that, and when he asked her why she said the guitar needed a home because there was no one living in her house who could play it and she wanted it to be loved by someone as much as it had been loved by her son. She would say no more on the matter but Billy’s uncle gathered that her son must have died, and died young, because she wasn’t that old either, no older than he himself was, and maybe she had heard something familiar in Billy’s story, but whatever the case she had offered the guitar for what they could afford, and if that wasn’t evidence of God helping Billy’s music expand, then Billy’s mum didn’t know what was. And then Billy’s mum had said so work hard, Billy, and he’d be able to do what he most wanted to do, and if that was to play guitar then that was wonderful, and if it was to do something else, that was fine too, but don’t ever stop singing. And Billy had said no, Mum, he wouldn’t, and she had said good, now off to bed with him.

A few days later school began, and every night after getting home the first thing Billy did was go upstairs and play his guitar, and Fiona came over one night and for the first time they were able to play together, and Billy thought it was great fun, and it was a real learning experience for him because he learned best by watching and listening and doing all at the same time and she taught him how to play the chords he needed to write the songs in his head, because he knew what chords they should be, but had trouble finding some of them on the fretboard in positions he could twist his fingers into. And a week later he was playing a song for his mum, like he’d promised, singing her a song he’d written, and she’d been proud and told him it was very very good, and if he kept working as hard and learning as quickly as he had been, she had no doubt that someday the whole country, and maybe even the world, would know his music, and Billy flushed and he knew that was his _mum_ talking, but his dreams of a band grew even stronger. And he took a step closer to that by getting into the band at school like he had hoped, and he paid attention even as he played to how the instruments worked together, to how a short highlight could be more effective than a long, drawn-out solo, and he filed it all away in the section of his brain that contained his music and that seemed to have a limitless capacity, and he slowly learned how to write for multiple instruments. He carried his guitar back and forth from school in a battered but sturdy case he’d bought with his own money, and suddenly he found he wasn’t tormented by the lads that hung out on the sidewalks any more, even if he was quietly singing under his breath, because he was more likely to be singing a rock song than a folk song these days, and besides, the guitar on his back apparently made him cool all of a sudden and his assertion that he was going to start a band was met with more interest than ridicule as he walked past them on his way home.

 

 

_"When did you start your band?" Dom asked curiously, his feet tucked under Billy's thigh as they sat on the sofa with their post-breakfast tea._

_Billy sipped from his mug, then said, "Not for quite a while."_

_"How come?"_

_Billy turned his head and looked at Dom, just simply gazed at him, but Dom felt himself shrinking into the sofa, a chill in the pit of his belly._

_"Oh, Bill..."_

 

 

A few weeks into school, Billy woke up late one morning, and when he realized what time it was, he leapt out of bed, angry his mum hadn’t woken him, because he was supposed to be at school early for a band rehearsal and if he didn’t hop it, he was going to be late. As he yanked on his clothes he noticed the house was silent and he groaned as he realized his mum must have slept in too, and now she was going to be late for work and he hoped she wouldn’t get in trouble or get the evil eye like he was going to when he snuck into the rehearsal room. He hurried to her room, but her bed was empty and her bathrobe gone from over her chair, so at least she was up, anyway, and then he saw the bathroom door was closed and he knocked on it and called out hurry up, Mum, yeah? And then he ran downstairs and put his stuff by the door because maybe she’d drop him at the school on her way to work if he was ready to go, and she _still_ hadn’t come down so he went tearing back up and knocked at the door again and called Mum, hurry _up_ , and he waited for an answer but there wasn’t one, and he couldn’t hear any water running and he frowned. He said Mum? Mum, please answer, and she still didn’t answer so he turned the handle of the bathroom door, suddenly tense and feeling sick and hoping he was being stupid and that he’d get a right bollocking for walking in on her and he opened the door and stopped cold. He looked down at his mum lying on the bathroom floor, still in her nightshirt and bathrobe, and he knew he’d have to do something, and he forced himself to walk over and kneel down beside her and pat her cheek and say Mum? But he knew, he knew, he knew. She looked different, she felt different, she was still warm but not as warm as his mum because his mum was gone and he was kneeling alone on the bathroom floor and he had to do something, he had to move because Margaret was going to be up any minute and she couldn’t, _couldn’t_ see their mum like this, she’d never remember her any other way and Billy didn’t want that to happen but oh God what was he supposed to do? He got off his knees and backed out of the bathroom and closed the door and went to his mum’s room and picked up the phone on the night table by her pillow and he turned away so he wasn’t looking at her pillow because it was still hollowed in the shape of her head and he rang the neighbours, the ones who were kind and capable and they would know what to do, and when their neighbour answered, he said hello, this is Billy Boyd next door, and could they help him because his mum was dead and he didn’t know what he should do, and his neighbour said dear Lord, and then a second later said, go unlock the front door, Billy dear, they’d be right there, and he hung up the phone without saying goodbye. He listened at Margaret’s door but she wasn’t awake yet, thank goodness she slept like a log and hadn’t heard him calling their mum earlier. He went downstairs and unlocked the door and then just stood there and waited and a moment later there was a light knock and his neighbours, both of them, were coming in and the man gently said where is she, Billy, and Billy turned and led them upstairs and said Margaret’s still sleeping, and he wasn’t sure why he said that exactly, but the lady nodded and said good, best to leave her for now and Billy opened the bathroom door and said again she’s dead and he just stood there while the man knelt down beside her and felt at her throat and he wanted to yell don’t touch her, don’t you touch my Mum, but he knew his neighbour was feeling for her pulse just in case, so he didn’t, he watched as the man touched his mum, leaned down and put his ear by her mouth, sat up again and asked his wife to go call the authorities and looked at Billy very sadly and said I’m sorry, son. And Billy said he wasn’t his son and could he sit with his mum for just a few minutes, please, before someone came and took her away? And his neighbour stood up and walked to Billy and clasped his shoulder tightly and then left him alone, but left the door open so he could keep an eye on him because after all Billy was only fourteen and it had only been a year since he lost his dad so the poor lad was likely to fall apart any minute, wasn’t he, but Billy thought they didn’t know him, they didn’t know him at all, and he sat on the floor by his mum’s head and he gently touched her, avoiding her skin, he touched her sleeve and then her shoulder and then smoothed his hand over her dark hair and he didn’t think anything else for some time, his hand stroking his mum’s hair.

Billy didn’t know how long it was before he heard Margaret shrieking, screaming his name, and he left his mum to go tearing into her room and she flew from one side of the room to the other, flew into his arms nearly knocking him over sobbing no, no, their mum wasn’t dead, tell them Billy, tell them, tell them Mum wasn’t dead and he told their kind neighbour lady to leave, leave them for a few minutes, and she looked at Billy closely for a moment and then nodded and left, again leaving the door open, and Billy took Margaret into the furthest corner of the room at the head of her bed and they curled up in the corner and Billy held Margaret tightly while she sobbed and he whispered in her ear, and when the neighbour looked in a few moments later they were still clinging to each other and Billy was still whispering in Margaret’s ear and neither of them ever told anyone what he said to her that morning, but her loud sobbing eased and she wept quietly in her little brother’s arms. After some time, and again Billy had no idea how long, time had ceased to have any meaning whatsoever, their neighbour came in and said she’d stay with Margaret, someone wanted to speak to him if he was up to it, and he nodded and whispered in Margaret’s ear again and Margaret tearily nodded and let him go and was immediately enveloped in the kind lady’s arms and Billy went out into the hall and stopped at the sight of the police in his house. A stranger who wasn’t police beckoned him over and explained he was the medical examiner and he just needed a few details, but if Billy wasn’t up to it--but Billy interrupted him and said go ahead, and he said all right, how about they go down to the kitchen then, and Billy saw another stranger walk into the bathroom with a folded piece of black plastic and he understood, the man was trying to get him out of the way so he wouldn’t see them cart his mum out in a black bin liner like--and he couldn’t even finish that thought, and he pushed past the man and walked into the bathroom and they let him go because he wasn’t running, he wasn’t panicking, he wasn’t hysterical, he was very calm and they weren’t sure how to deal with a young boy who’d just lost his last parent and was so composed. And Billy didn’t know why he was so calm, he just...was. And there were two people already in that tiny bathroom, but they stood aside as Billy walked in, and he ignored them, and knelt at his mum’s side again, and curled over and laid his forehead on her cool one and shut his eyes and tried to feel something, anything but this great dark emptiness inside him, he felt his mum deserved more than this nothingness that filled him from head to toe but he couldn’t summon up anything for her and he knew that would hurt him later but he still felt hollow inside and finally he lifted his head to press his lips against her skin where his forehead had rested and he kissed his mum goodbye, for himself and for Margaret. He got up, took one last look, then turned and walked out of the bathroom, unaware of the eyes that followed him, unaware that not all of those eyes were dry, unaware that he had deeply affected the hearts of several people that day. Billy walked down the stairs to the kitchen where the man who had wanted to talk to him waited, and someone sat him down and someone else pushed a cup of tea into his hand and he sipped it but it was too strong and far too sweet and so he put it back on the table as he answered every question quietly but firmly, and when the phone suddenly rang, making everyone jump, Billy had risen and answered it before anyone thought to answer it for him. It was the car hire firm, calling to find out why his mum wasn’t at work because she was late and she hadn’t called and they were concerned because that wasn’t like her, and Billy said he was sorry, but she wouldn’t be coming in to work because she died that morning, and he heard a gasp at the other end before a man, his neighbour he realized, quickly took the phone from him and in a low voice spoke to the shocked woman for a few minutes and then hung up. It was then that the police, and it was obvious this was the reason for their presence, Billy thought, asked him if he had any other relatives and he said he had to phone his Gran and he picked up the phone and started dialing before they gently pulled him away and said they would take care of it, they would send someone round to fetch her, and he wouldn’t want to give her a shock over the phone, would he? And Billy shook his head, not really knowing anyway what they meant, what shock, and then he said there was his uncle, her brother, as well, but he was in Edinburgh and Billy didn’t suppose they’d send a car around for him, would they? And the adults had all looked at each other and one had gently said no, he was afraid they couldn’t do that, but they’d be sure he knew, and could Billy give them the name of their family doctor? And Billy shook his head and said he didn’t need a doctor, but thank you all the same, and if they’d please excuse him he wanted to see to his sister, and he turned around and walked out, leaving a room full of saddened men staring after him.

Billy went back upstairs, wishing all those people would leave, wishing the house was as silent and empty as he was, and he went to Margaret’s room and saw their lady neighbour had helped Margaret to change out of her pyjamas, to get dressed and brush her hair a bit, and he didn’t ask her to leave this time because she was being so kind and was comforting Margaret with a warmth that Billy himself didn’t have any more; all his warmth had left him on the bathroom floor. She tried to comfort Billy too, though, and that wasn’t on, he didn’t want to be comforted, he couldn’t be, there was nothing to comfort because he felt nothing, and he shook her off and sat on the bed with Margaret and held her tight while he stared at the wall. And when their neighbour touched his arm, Billy thought it was only moments later but she said his Gran was there, did they want to go down and see her? And Margaret started weeping again and left Billy sitting on the side of the bed and ran downstairs to her Gran, and after a moment Billy followed, and if he’d been capable of feeling anything he thought it would be fear that his Gran would look older and greyer and more lined and not familiar after losing her only daughter, but when he got downstairs she was just Gran, and the sight of his strict, reserved Gran with her arms around Margaret, holding her and stroking her hair and leaning down to kiss the top of her head was almost enough to make him feel something. But he didn’t, and when his Gran looked up and saw Billy, saw him just standing there, she got tears in her eyes and he only thought how strange to see what Gran looked like when she cried and she held out an arm to him, keeping the other around Margaret’s shoulders, and Billy walked over and dutifully allowed himself to be hugged.

The rest of that day was a confusing jumble for Billy, a day that flew by with speed and commotion and yet crawled like a super-slow-motion film and nothing seemed to happen. It was a day of endless cups of tea and Margaret suddenly bursting into tears and people in and out until Billy, if he felt anything, would have felt thankful that he couldn’t feel anything, or he would have been screaming by now, and he frowned, trying to work out that thought because it didn’t quite make sense. At some point Billy’s uncle arrived and he was a big man and he scooped Margaret up off her chair and held her while she wept, and he sat his mother down for a rest and took over making the tea and thanking the neighbours who came with heartfelt sympathies and casseroles and human morbid curiosity, and he kept his eye on Billy the whole time. Billy knew it but it didn’t matter, because it didn’t touch him. And then Billy and Margaret went into the living room to sit silently on the sofa together, Billy holding his sister’s hand between both of his, and in the kitchen their Gran and their uncle started making arrangements, and Billy hated that word, or he would have if he could feel hatred, because it made it sound like his mum dying had been an inconvenience they had to suddenly plan around, and then he thought no, that’s not fair, that’s not fair at all, it’s just a word and his Gran and his uncle were hurting so much and just doing what had to be done and that was good because Billy didn’t know what had to be done. They sat there until someone came and kindly asked if they’d had anything to eat at all, and Billy shook his head and next thing he knew someone was pushing a small plate of food into his hand, and one into Margaret’s hand, plates with small bits of different things the neighbours had brought in the hopes that something would appeal, and Margaret picked at hers a little, but Billy ate his, it was nice of the neighbours to think of them and it would be a shame to waste it, and ten minutes later he walked upstairs and hurried into the bathroom and knelt on the floor very near where his mum had lain and he threw up into the toilet and then he sat for a moment, waiting for the nausea to subside, and he stared at the floor, and then he got up and rinsed his mouth and washed his hands and walked back downstairs. And as he passed the kitchen he heard music because someone had turned on the radio, the volume low, and he froze, and then he walked into the kitchen and turned it off and walked out again.

Sometime late that afternoon their Gran came to sit with Billy and Margaret, and she quietly asked them where did they want to stay that night, in their own beds here or would they like to come to her house? Billy let Margaret answer because it didn’t matter to him, he didn’t care, and Margaret’s eyes filled and she whimpered she wanted to stay home, and their Gran held her, and Billy watched with interest again because he didn’t get to see his Gran hugging someone very often, and their Gran said all right, shh, that was fine, they would all stay here, and their uncle was just going to run her home to get a few things and they’d be right back and she’d stay the night with them and Billy nodded and took over holding a weeping Margaret as his Gran wearily got to her feet and left, and Billy thought about what she’d just said, that she’d stay the night with them. And it struck him that he and Margaret were alone now and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. Would they have to leave? What about the house, Billy didn’t know how much it cost to keep a house and besides he was only fourteen and Margaret was only fifteen and a half, even if they were allowed to leave school no one would hire them so they could make enough money to keep it and they were underage so they had to have an adult, and who was that going to be? Were they going to live with their Gran? But she was getting old and maybe she wouldn’t want to, wouldn’t be able to do that all over again with two children, and maybe they’d go live with their uncle, but he had three kids of his own and not much room left in the house, or maybe they’d be packed off to live with relatives they barely knew in Detroit, and yes they were Boyds and they were clannish, but that was a lot to ask of anyone, really, and what if no one wanted to take both of them and they wanted to split he and Margaret up and then Billy said out loud no matter what, he’d look after Margaret, and Margaret hugged him tightly and asked what was going to happen to them and Billy said again he would look after her and apparently that was answer enough for her, for now, because she didn’t ask again.

When Billy’s Gran and uncle got back, Billy didn’t know when, suddenly they were just there again, Billy marched into the kitchen and mindless of who was there announced they were not splitting he and Margaret up, he wouldn’t allow it, Margaret needed him and she wouldn’t make it without him and he’d take her away with him before he let anyone split them up and if they were being packed off to America would someone please tell them soon so they could get used to the idea, and then one of his neighbours who was listening to all this started to cry and Billy turned on her and said _stop it_ with something approaching scorn except that was a feeling and Billy didn’t feel it. Then his Gran was grabbing his chin in her strong hand, lifting his face to meet her eyes as she firmly--almost urgently, Billy thought--said no one was splitting he and Margaret up, not while she walked this earth, and they were most certainly not being packed off to America, they were staying right here with her, and do you understand, William? And he’d nodded, and she released his chin and more quietly said there hadn’t yet been time to sort out all the details, and when the time came to do so both he and Margaret would be consulted so he needn’t worry their future would be decided without so much as a by-your-leave, but no, Billy, no one was splitting he and his sister up. And Billy said oh. And then he said good. And then he said all right then, and turned and walked out of the kitchen, and his uncle quickly followed him and said come on, Billy lad, how about they get out of the house for a bit, just the two of them, go for a walk, and Billy shrugged because he didn’t care, it was all the same to him, so he went and told Margaret he was going for a walk with their uncle but he’d be back soon, and Gran was in the kitchen, and she nodded and said come back soon and he said he would, he promised, and he squeezed her hand before he left.

Outside, walking down the sidewalk in the cold drizzle falling from dull leaden skies, Billy thought how well the weather suited him because it was cold and flat and with very little expectation of anything changing, if weather could be said to have expectations, and Billy supposed it couldn’t really, and then his uncle was interrupting his thoughts to ask how Billy was feeling, his voice casual but not casual enough for Billy. Billy shrugged again and said fine, thanks, and his uncle was silent a moment before saying he didn’t quite believe that, seeing as he’d just lost his mum, now talk man to man--how was he really feeling? And Billy said he was fine, really, he was empty and nothing was bothering him, and he said it matter-of-factly because it was true, and his uncle nodded and said I see. Billy’s uncle said he was just a vacuum, nothing existed inside his skin, and Billy said yes, that’s it, and his uncle nodded again and said all right, Billy, that might help for today. Then his uncle quietly said but be careful, Billy, because the longer he stayed empty, the worse it would be, the more terribly it would hurt, when he filled up again, and the longer he stayed empty the more he was going to worry his Gran and frighten Margaret, and since he was empty he probably couldn’t see that, but it was very true. And Billy thought about that, and it made sense even though his uncle was right about him not being able to see why his Gran would be worried or why it would frighten Margaret, but his uncle seemed to understand and wasn’t insisting Billy feel something, so Billy believed him. And Billy said all right, he said he didn’t want to frighten or worry anyone, and his uncle said he knew that, because Billy was a very thoughtful lad, it was one of the many reasons his mum had loved him so much, and Billy said don’t talk about her, don’t, and there was a crack in the darkness inside him and he quickly patched it up because he couldn’t, not today, and he didn’t realize he was walking quickly away from his uncle, didn’t realize he’d said all that out loud, and his uncle just followed behind, letting Billy walk himself out, letting Billy tire himself until it grew dark and then his uncle caught him up and said time to head home, Billy lad, Margaret would probably be wanting him by now, and Billy came back to himself and was surprised to see it was dark and his legs were tired and he said okay and turned directly around and then realized he didn’t know where he was, and his uncle gently said this way, Billy, and they walked home.

That night Billy and Margaret slept in their mum’s bed, because Margaret hadn’t wanted to sleep alone and was going to ask their Gran but Billy thought their Gran could probably use a good rest so he asked Margaret if she wanted to share Mum’s bed with him, let Gran get some proper kip, and Margaret had said okay, as long as she wasn’t alone in there. Billy had said no, he wouldn’t leave her alone, and so late that night after everyone had finally gone and they were both exhausted and Margaret especially was completely wrung out from weeping, they crawled into their mum’s bed and Margaret started crying again so Billy put his arms around his sister and hugged her and whispered in her ear again until she stopped crying and then soon fell asleep. But without someone to whisper in his ear it took Billy an awfully long time to fall asleep himself.

 

_"Billy," Dom murmured. "I ... thank you."_

_Billy reached over and rubbed at the salty tracks the drying tears had left on Dom's face. "Give us a hug, yeah?" he said gruffly._

_Dom pulled Billy into his arms, wrapped his arms fiercely around him, and they held each other tightly for a long time. Dom could feel Billy's every breath against his neck, could feel each individual finger pressing into his skin, and he hugged Billy even harder._

_Finally Billy pulled back and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Cup of tea?"_

_"Coming up." Dom hesitated, then despite his own wishes said, "We can stop, Bill. You don't have to--"_

_Billy shook his head. "I've started now. Might as well finish it, I suppose."_

_"Okay. But if you need to stop--"_

_"Need you to know more than I need to stop. Give me a couple of minutes and a cup of tea, okay?"_

_Dom took Billy's face between his palms and kissed him. "Okay," he whispered against Billy's lips. "Okay."_


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was almost a total blank for Billy. It was filled with more people, stupid bloody people who wouldn’t leave them alone, who kept coming and being nice and kind and sympathetic and helping immensely and Billy wished they’d piss off and leave him alone, but he would never dream of saying such a thing aloud. The day was filled with tea and food he couldn’t eat and phone calls to and from America and funeral arrangements and pouring rain he watched through the window. And it was filled with keeping an eye on Margaret who was at least weeping a bit less today although she was almost always needing to touch someone, reaching out to hold a hand or even just hang on to a jumper, whether it was their Gran or their uncle or Billy, and by the end of the day Billy didn’t know if he could take it anymore, he didn’t want anyone touching him anymore, if he had to endure one more hug or kiss on the forehead or even one more firm heartfelt handshake, if one more person tried to _touch_ him he was going to tell them to just bloody well bugger off and then he was going to go outside and walk in the teeming rain until it got dark and he could go home to a house empty of all these people, and then Margaret crept up and held onto his jumper and then touched his hand and he sighed and put his arm around her shoulders. That night they slept in their mum’s bed again.

The funeral was several days later to allow time for the people coming from America to arrive, and if Billy were feeling anything yet, which he wasn’t, it would probably have been pity that the only times they came home were to bury their family, and then he wondered if they thought of it as coming home anymore. The day of the funeral was cloudy, and chilly, but there was no sign of rain as Billy and Margaret, dressed in good dark clothes, walked from the house and climbed into the car. There had been a viewing period in the funeral home, but neither had gone because their Gran didn’t think Margaret should go and Billy didn’t feel the need. He’d already seen her dead, and he’d already kissed her goodbye for himself and for Margaret, and he’d told Margaret that at some point, that their mum had gotten a goodbye kiss and she’d wept terribly with some odd mixture of relief and anger and pain that Billy didn’t understand because he couldn’t feel. The car took them to the kirk, the same kirk that had seen their father’s funeral service, and as they walked in Billy thought maybe he might not ever come here again, and they took their seats in the front pew with Gran and their uncle, and Billy was a little surprised but at the same time not at all surprised at how full the kirk was with people come to say goodbye to his mum, and he looked at the stained glass window throughout the service while he listened, and he filed everything he heard away for later inspection because he knew he would want to know what lovely things people said about his mum but he couldn’t look at them now, not today, only the rest of today to get through and then maybe, maybe he could start to feel again, when he wasn’t going to be surrounded by strangers. The only thing Billy closed his ears to was the music. He didn’t hear a word anyone sang, he didn’t hear a note that came from the old organ, he just shut it off and refused to hear, refused to admit it was there, he stared at the baptismal font to the side and wondered how the minister held a wriggling, crying baby, because he rather thought they all cried, didn’t they, and he wondered how the minister held that difficult bundle with one hand while wetting its head with the holy water, and what made the water holy, he wondered, was it just praying, because if so couldn’t anyone make holy water? And then the hymns were over and Margaret held his hand, rubbing the back of it with the palm of her other hand, and he was proud of her for sitting straight and tall and dry-eyed, and he even gave her a little, tiny little smile, and she didn’t smile back but she did squeeze his hand before returning her eyes to the front, and Billy looked up at the stained glass window again.

After the service was over Billy walked outside, holding Margaret’s hand, and she held her Gran’s with her other hand, and they walked outside with everyone else while the pallbearers, including their uncle, brought out the casket that Billy knew contained his mum. He couldn’t quite picture her in it, but he didn’t suppose that mattered, and they stood around the open grave that had been lined all around with fake grass to hide the fresh soil and Billy thought that was possibly the stupidest thing he’d ever seen because how could fake grass change the fact that they were there to bury someone deep in the ground under all that dirt piled up over there under more fake grass, and so he just ignored it and looked at the flowers they’d brought out and draped over the casket and he was glad they were white because he wasn’t sure but he thought his mum had especially liked white flowers, and his eyes shied away from looking at his dad’s name on the headstone and then the minister was speaking again and Billy didn’t really want to hold on to what _he_ said, so he tuned the man out and just stayed quiet and empty and cold.

The next thing Billy knew the casket was being lowered into the deep hole and impassively he watched it go down until it rested on the bottom and then the ropes were withdrawn and his Gran was stepping forward, taking Margaret with her, and Billy followed on her other side, and he and Margaret copied their Gran as she stooped to pick up a handful of dirt and throw it in the grave where it landed on the lid of the casket with a startlingly loud clatter and Billy had a moment’s irrational thought that they shouldn’t do that in case they woke her up but then he was swiftly shutting that thought down and tossing his own handful and wondering why they did that, anyway, it didn’t make sense to throw a handful of dirt, what did that accomplish? Then it was over and people were drifting away, talking quietly and coming over to his Gran and his uncle and he and Margaret to offer their condolences and Billy took a deep breath and started shaking hands again and saying thank you very much for coming over and over and over and he heard people whispering, saying poor Margaret, poor Billy, no parents, whatever will they do, look how brave they are, look at Billy being so polite and strong and not a tear to be seen they’re such good children never a speck of trouble this year’s been so hard on them and Billy suddenly just walked away, turned away from the person speaking to him and walked away and went to the car and climbed in, closing the car door after him. He sat on the floor of the car where he couldn’t be seen and he felt nothing, but at least it was quiet and he was alone, and he patiently waited to go home.

That night Margaret told their Gran to take their mum’s bed, it was bigger and more comfortable than her own, which was where their Gran had been sleeping while Margaret and Billy shared the larger bed, and Billy agreed, wanting their Gran to sleep well because she was looking tired and sad after the funeral and he knew Margaret was desperately afraid of losing Gran too. So he went back to his own bedroom that night and crawled into bed alone for the first time since his mum had died and it was partly a relief and partly very lonely, and so he wouldn’t lay there thinking in the darkness he got his torch and grabbed the thick heavy volume of the collected works of Shakespeare that his dad had given him, and he read some of _Much Ado About Nothing_ , one of his favourite comedies and someday he would play Benedick because it was such a good character, so funny and kind and rude and confused and bold. He read some of his favourite parts and it didn’t make him laugh but he hadn’t expected it to, he just thought he’d perhaps better not read one of the tragedies, and he read until his eyelids were very heavy and then he carefully put the book on the floor, switched off his torch, and went to sleep.

Billy woke sharply from a vivid dream in the middle of the night, sitting up abruptly in bed as he started shouting at the top of his lungs, not able to stop because suddenly he was feeling again and his uncle had been right it hurt so much, so much, and he couldn’t help shouting wordlessly, nearly screaming because his emptiness was being filled up and he was filling up with pain and anger and his heart felt like it was breaking and then he realized it felt like it because it was. Then his Gran came running in, her bathrobe only half-on over her long, old-fashioned nightgown and she took Billy’s rigid body into her arms and rocked him and tried to shush him but then Margaret came flying in anyway and she launched herself onto Billy’s bed and hugged his back underneath Gran’s arms and said his name over and over, weeping Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy while he shouted out his sobs, his entire body shaking with every one and he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop because he was still filling up with grief and anguish and it wasn’t ending, it wasn’t slowing, he just kept shouting and crying out and nearly screaming in his agony and he could only feel inside now, it overwhelmed everything else--

 

_"Billy, please don't," Dom begged, his own heart breaking at the dry empty eyes in front of him, lost in a memory that Dom couldn't share no matter how much Billy told him of it. "Don't, love--"_

 

\--he couldn’t feel anything but the pain cutting him to threads inside and he couldn’t feel his Gran’s arms holding him so tightly and he couldn’t feel Margaret’s wet face against his back and he wanted his mum so badly he thought he would choke with it and then he was sobbing so hard he _was_ choking with it and his Gran let him go to put her cool hands on his face, to hold his face and stroke his wet cheeks, his sweaty forehead, and she spoke to him in a low voice, calming and soothing and although Billy couldn’t hear it at first, it started to slowly have an effect and he stopped choking and just sobbed and sobbed. Margaret curled around him like she wanted to share in his anguish and somehow that helped and his sobs slowly eased into loud weeping.

He wept for a very long time, so long and so hard that finally he had to push his Gran away and unwrap Margaret from around his stomach and run to the bathroom and be sick into the toilet, and he couldn’t stop crying even while he threw up and he was glad, if it could be called that, relieved, anyway, that neither of them tried to come to him in the bathroom as he was sick once more, and then he knew that part of it was over and he reached up to flush the toilet and he tremblingly climbed to his feet and splashed the clammy sweat off his face under the tap and rinsed his mouth out and put some toothpaste on his tongue and swished that around to get rid of the horrid taste of grief that lingered. He opened the door and staggered straight into his Gran’s arms and she led him back to his room and settled him back in his bed and sat with him for an hour while he quietly, very quietly, cried for his mum, and Margaret fell asleep with her arm across his chest. His Gran was going to wake her, take her back to her own room, but with a ragged, barely audible whisper Billy asked if she could stay, please could she stay, just for tonight, and his Gran had put her hand briefly on his cheek and then stood to pull a blanket over Margaret and then leaned down and kissed Billy’s forehead and even though she was strict and reserved, Billy had discovered the last few days just how deeply their Gran loved them and he whispered that he loved her and she shushed him and said sleep now, dear, and after running her hand briefly over his hair she left them, making sure the door was left slightly ajar so she would hear them if they called.

The next day Billy’s Gran let him stay in bed for the entire morning, knowing he felt exhausted and sore and slightly ill and not up to facing the day just yet. Margaret left him mostly alone, just sticking her head in once in a while to reassure herself he was okay, and to bring him tea and toast. But in the afternoon he had to get up, to get dressed and go downstairs and visit, because his dad’s relatives from America were stopping by before heading to the airport to fly home, and he dreaded it because he was feeling now and he was feeling an awful lot and it was very uncomfortable because it squeezed his heart and he was afraid any kind gesture or warm hug would squeeze it even further until he started crying again and Billy hating crying in front of other people, he always had and he always would. It was difficult, and Billy wound up getting a little teary, a little sniffly in front of them, which embarrassed him, but they were nice and talked to him about Detroit and told him they’d like it if he and Margaret could come visit them all sometime and he told them how he’d told his dad if he ever made it there he wanted to be shown all the nightclubs his dad had sung in, and they smiled and said there weren’t many of them left, not after thirty years, but they might be able to find one or two, and they’d like that very much. Then Billy hesitantly asked them to thank everyone who had sent letters after his dad died, that his mum had treasured them, and he felt Margaret’s eyes on him because she hadn’t heard about the letters and so he didn’t mention the money, but he did say their help had meant a lot to her and to Billy and to Margaret, and they understood and nodded and left it at that. Finally they had to leave, and they went with hugs and kisses and some tears, not only on Billy and Margaret’s part, and promised they would think about Billy and Margaret often and they would keep in touch, because Boyds were Boyds and Billy nodded and said ‘Confido’, I trust, and he received a big kiss on the forehead for that, and then the door was closing behind them and the house was silent again. Billy slumped on the sofa, worn out, aching in body and soul and not knowing what to do with himself.

After a few minutes Margaret came in with a cup of tea for him, and he took it and mumbled his thanks, and she sat down beside him, her feet tucked up on the sofa. She leaned her head against his shoulder and asked what letters, Billy? And Billy didn’t really want to talk about it, didn’t want to be reminded yet again of losing his dad and losing his mum, he just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up for a long, long time, not until this hard knot of anger and fear and sorrow in his chest stopped choking him. But he told her about the letters anyway, about how so many people had written to their mum to let her know they were thinking about her, and about Billy and Margaret too, and Margaret asked if he’d seen them and he said no, Mum hadn’t shown them to him, she thought they were still too young, and they still missed Dad too much, and he guessed she thought the letters would make them too sad. And Margaret said oh, and then she said yeah, they probably would, and then she asked what did he think was going to happen to them now? And although she tried to be matter-of-fact, she sounded so frightened, so small and lost and scared that even though it was probably the very last thing in the world he wanted to do the day after his mum’s funeral, even though he thought he’d probably rather jab a meat fork into his leg than do this right now, he said they would be together no matter what, but why didn’t they go ask Gran? So they went to the kitchen where their Gran was reading some papers, and Billy stayed back, he leaned against the counter while Margaret sat at the table with her Gran, and Margaret asked her Gran what was going to happen now? And their Gran looked at her, looked over at Billy, and sighed, and put the papers down, and folded her hands on top of them. She said there were still many things to be worked out, still many matters that had to be discussed with the lawyers and such, but they would be living with her now, their mum had made her their legal guardian. And while they didn’t have much choice in that matter, they did in another, and Billy wondered who she meant by ‘they’, and if she felt she didn’t have much choice either, and he wondered if she wanted a choice, wondered if there was a choice for her to make. And then he remembered her kindness, her gentleness the night before when he’d started feeling again, and he felt bad for being so unfair, even as he really wished he knew the answer. And then their Gran continued, and said that because they weren’t of legal age yet, the house had been left to her, but she knew their mum would have wanted them to have the choice. So she wanted them to think for a few days, because nothing was going to happen fast, she wanted them to think about where they wanted to live, if they wanted her to move in here with them and stay in the house they’d grown up in, or would they rather sell it and live at her house and not in the house where they’d lived with their mum and dad? Margaret opened her mouth, started to speak, but her Gran said no, shush, she mustn’t answer right away, she must think about it, really think about whether she wanted to stay in the house where her mum died, and at such plain speaking Margaret’s eyes filled, but she nodded, understanding now what her Gran really meant. Billy watched them, and he knew with a sense of despair that he didn’t even want to examine what he thought because it didn’t matter, he would do whatever Margaret wanted because he wouldn’t have the heart to go against her in this, and he wished he could leave this room, go up to his bedroom and curl up under the covers where the air was warm and stale and he could let the grief that still filled him up and left no room for anything else, let it leak out slowly because he was afraid of being empty again, but he didn’t want to be full of this thick sadness either so he thought maybe if it leaked out slowly something better would trickle in to replace it.

Suddenly Billy had to do it, had to leave, and he automatically muttered excuse me because his Gran was a big one for the manners, even bigger than his mum had been, and how long before it stopped being a horrible, awful shock to use the past tense when referring to his mum? He trudged up the stairs to his room and closed the door and climbed back into his bed and curled on his side facing the wall with the blanket over his head and he decided to try it, to try letting his desolation leak out slowly, and he let the tears he’d been holding back for an hour seep out, drip sideways across his face, soak into his pillow, but apparently he had more sadness in him than he thought because so far it hadn’t drained enough to let anything else in. A little desperately he wondered how long this was going to last, he understood everybody was sad when they lost their mum, he’d known kids at school who’d lost a parent and they’d been quiet and withdrawn for a long time, but he didn’t know how long he could feel this bad, didn’t know how long he could hurt this much and not go mad, not lose his bloody mind and just snap one day, just start shouting obscenities at the top of his lungs, and living where he did and going to school where he did, he knew some choice ones, ones that would make his Gran wash his mouth out with soap. How long before this hideous choking pain drove him right round the bend?

A little while later there was a knock at Billy’s bedroom door and he kept quiet, thinking it was probably Margaret come to check on him again and bring him another cup of too-sweet tea and he knew it was just keeping her busy, it made her feel better to look after him, which was such a _girl_ thing really, but he didn’t want to come out from under his blanket yet and he didn’t know if she’d understand that and he couldn’t explain, so he kept quiet, pretending he was asleep. But then his door opened and it was his Gran quietly asking if she could please come in, and somehow it was different with his Gran, he had to answer her, and he wasn’t sure why, but he thought perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she didn’t need him the way Margaret needed him so much right now and she wasn’t going to take more of him away like Margaret did, not that she could help it, poor thing, she was hurting every bit as much as he was, and maybe more in a way, because weren’t girls supposed to be closer to their mums than boys? And Billy had been awfully close to his mum, so it scared him a little how much Margaret must be hurting and he thought he needed to help her, to comfort her, but at this very moment that was too far beyond him, he didn’t at this second have it in him, not at all. He belatedly realized his Gran was still standing at the door, so he mumbled come in, and she quietly closed the door and walked over to the bed, and after a moment she sat on the edge. Billy wriggled closer to the wall to make more room, and his Gran shifted back to a more comfortable position and then she sat still and didn’t say anything, and Billy started to get a little uncomfortable, because what was she doing that she was just sitting there, why did she come into his room if she didn’t want to talk to him, why wouldn’t she just go away and let him cry in peace? Then he felt a hand on top of the blanket, over his shoulder, it just rested on his shoulder, not squeezing, not petting, just sitting there so he could feel its warmth and its weight and he realized she knew, or at least, she had an idea of how he felt and she was waiting for him to be ready to speak and he wasn’t quite, not yet, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable with the silence anymore and he tried to sniffle back his tears quietly until he could speak without them bursting through. After a few minutes he asked where Margaret was, and his Gran said she was watching TV. After another moment she asked him if he wanted to come out from under the blanket, and he said not really, actually, and he heard a little smile in her voice as she said all right then and suddenly he was asking her how long it would last.

He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t meant to show how badly he hurt, he was trying to be grown-up and strong but it was hard, so hard, and his Gran quietly asked how long what would last, like she thought she knew what he meant but wanted to be sure before answering, and he said how long would it hurt this bad, really _ache_ , when would he just get to being sad and not feeling like he couldn’t draw a breath for the awful weight sitting in his chest, and she sadly said his name, and then she didn’t say anything else for a minute, and then she said it would take a little time. It was different for every person, how long they suffered, and Billy had loved his mum very much and so he was suffering very much and Billy said, almost angrily, that he hadn’t felt like this when his dad died, and he’d loved him very much too, and she calmly said of course he had, but he’d had a chance to say goodbye to his dad, hadn’t he? He’d had time to say goodbye and get used to the idea of a world without his dad, and when his dad died, he’d had his mum to share his grief with, to lessen it by sharing, but it wasn’t a complete shock, his heart and his mind had known it was coming, and he had been at least partially prepared. There was no preparing for something like this, she said, and she sounded quiet and sad and like maybe she was suffering pretty badly too, and Billy turned around under the covers and pressed his head against her knee to tell her he was sorry she hurt too, but he couldn’t have done it if he wasn’t hidden under the blanket, and as it was he couldn’t say the words. But his Gran just put her hand back on the blanket, this time on his head and said she couldn’t say when, but it wouldn’t last forever, Billy, it probably wouldn’t even last that long before the sharpness of it went away, and when she said sharpness Billy knew for sure she understood and felt it too. She said he just had to try and ride out the storm, because there would be an end to it, and Billy said he didn’t want to go back to school, and he wasn’t sure how that was connected, only that it was, and his Gran simply said no, he needn't just yet. There was silence again, and then Billy said to ask Margaret where she wanted to live, and that’s where it would be, and his Gran surprised him by saying don’t do that, Billy, and he was confused and asked don’t do what? His Gran said don’t put a decision like that on Margaret’s shoulders alone, it wasn’t fair to her or to him, she might be fifteen, but she was a very young fifteen, and he needed to be part of the choice too, and if he wanted he could tell her where he wanted to live right now, without Margaret around, and if Margaret said the opposite then they could figure out what to do, but where did he _really_ want to live? And without any hesitation Billy said here, and then he said but if--and his Gran said leave the ifs for another day. Then she lifted her hand from his head and stood, and asked could he come out from under the covers yet? And when Billy said no, not just yet, she said all right then, but he was to come down for dinner when she called. Billy made a face even though she couldn’t see it and said he wasn’t hungry and she said fine, then he could at least sit and talk to Margaret and herself while they ate, and he was to come down for dinner when she called, and Billy knew she meant business and even though he didn’t want to leave his little cocoon, neither did he want to upset her, not today, so he finally agreed.

 

_Dom took Billy's hand and pulled him up from the sofa. "Time for a break," he said gently, and led the way into the kitchen._

_"I'm all right, Dom--"_

_"I know you are. But it's time for a break. What would you like for lunch, love?"_

_Billy looked out the window. "Anything."_

_"How about alphabet soup?" Dom asked, smiling. "First one to spell out 'Dom loves Billy' wins."_

_Billy dropped his head, chuckling. "Git. Are there bonus points for spelling out 'Billy shags Dom'?"_

_"Hell, yes."_

_"Alphabet soup it is, then."_

_Dom gave him a kiss. "Why'n't you check the post? Maybe walk down and fetch a newspaper? I'll have it ready by the time you get back."_

_Billy leaned his forehead against Dom's for a moment, murmured, "Aye. Thanks," and then silently left. He returned ten minutes later, dropping the paper and the post on the hall table on his way past to the kitchen._

_Dom finished pouring their soup into bowls and set out the plate of buttered toast. "Sit down. Eat."_

_Dom only had 'D m l es Bil y' and Billy only had 'B lly sh s D m' when Billy started talking again, his fingers tearing his toast into pieces._

 

 

That evening they sat and watched TV, Billy’s Gran sitting in his dad’s old chair by the lamp by the window so that no matter when she sat there she would have light enough for her knitting. Billy watched her hands as much as he watched the television, because he couldn’t have said what the program was even about, so little was his interest. He watched his Gran’s hands flash, watched a finger wrap wool around the needle faster than lightning, and it was hypnotic, really, there was such a steady, even rhythm to the movements, to the clicking of the needles, and he wondered briefly why a rhythm wasn’t inspiring music in his head, and then he realized that when he went empty when his mum died, he went _empty_ , everything had left him including his music, and when he finally filled again he filled with so much pain and grief and anger there was no room left for music. And that startled him so much, because he had never in his life been without his music, it stunned him so much that he got up and walked up the stairs to his bedroom and opened his guitar case and he stood there and looked at his beautiful guitar and that’s when he knew it was really, truly gone, because he had no desire at all to pick up his guitar, he had no desire to sing, and his music had died with his mum. He stood there and looked at the guitar she’d given him to expand his music, thought of all the times she’d told him never stop singing, and he started to tear apart inside that he was breaking his promise to her, to his dad, but then he thought no--no, because she couldn’t have known, couldn’t have known she would die and his music would die with her and that there would be nothing left, she wouldn’t expect him to sing and play when the music God had given him had been taken back.

He didn’t know how he felt about that, really. He was vaguely sad it was gone, but it sort of faded compared to the pain he felt over losing his mum, and he wondered if, as the sharpness lessened like his Gran had said it would, if losing his music would hurt more. He hoped not. He really didn’t want to hurt anymore, thank you _very_ much, and with that message to God, the universe, and anyone or anything that might be listening, Billy went back downstairs and sat on the sofa in a bit of a daze, feeling like maybe he wasn’t even himself anymore, maybe he had _been_ his music, and now that it was gone William Boyd was...nothing. And he stared unseeing at the TV for the rest of the night.

The next few days all followed a similar pattern. They rose, all three of them, a little later in the morning than they otherwise might have, Gran made them porridge for breakfast, they ate, and while Gran read the newspaper, Billy and Margaret were allowed to watch a little TV. But when Gran was done her paper, the TV went off and they had to do something productive, and Billy knew it was partially to distract them, hoping that if they got caught up in a book, they could leave it all behind for a bit, and he didn’t know about Margaret, maybe it worked for her because she always had been a big reader so she must find something in her books, but it didn’t work for Billy; not even the Shakespeare could tempt him to leave it all behind. So he usually ended up reading for a bit and then just looking out the window, wishing he could go out for a bit, but not really wanting to move. One of Margaret’s school chums dropped off some homework for her so she wouldn’t get too far behind, and she dove into it, buried herself into it, and Billy was thinking of asking his Gran why she didn’t send Margaret back to school when she so wanted to be working on her lessons, until twenty minutes later she threw down her pencil and burst into tears, and Billy decided maybe he’d leave that up to his Gran, then, because he really didn’t quite understand why a little maths problem, even if it was hated algebra, would make her cry so very hard.

Every day after the reading and the homework, their Gran would make Billy and Margaret some lunch, something fresh along with reheated leftovers of the casseroles brought by the neighbours. After a week of them, even though they were different, most of them, Billy was so sick of casseroles he thought he’d never ever eat another casserole again, and when he saw his Gran’s fork hesitate ever so slightly on its way to her mouth, Billy almost, _almost_ smiled at seeing she felt the same, and he quietly finished eating. Every day after lunch, Billy and Margaret did the washing up and made Gran a cup of tea, and the second day after the funeral she suggested they go outside for a while as it wasn’t, at that moment, raining, but they both politely refused and retreated to their bedrooms. The fourth day after she gave them a purpose, asking if they would please take some letters to the post office for her while she did the hoovering, and she gave them a stack of letters and two pounds for postage and as she turned away added there would probably be enough change left for a packet of chips to share, if they wanted to walk ‘round to the chippy. Margaret perked up a little bit, and even Billy looked forward to some chips, and they set off willingly enough on her errand.

Neither of them spoke much on the first part of their walk, just trying to adapt to being out in public again, but they soon relaxed and started to talk a bit and Margaret asked Billy when they were going to go back to school, and he wondered why she always asked him these questions instead of Gran because he didn’t know, did he, but he knew she was afraid Gran might say _tomorrow_ , and the idea scared her to pieces. So he told her not yet, she wouldn’t send them back just yet, not until they were ready, so Margaret shouldn’t worry about it right now, and Margaret looked down at her feet as they walked and said it was hard not to worry, and didn’t he find it hard not to worry an awful lot? And Billy said yeah, it was hard, but he tried not to because what good would it do, and what was she worrying about, anyway? Did she want to tell him? And Margaret was quiet for a bit and then she said sort of...everything. She was worried Gran might die too, she was worried about Billy, about where they were going to live, about going back to school, about things that--and Billy stopped her there, both her rushed speech and her feet, by halting and turning her to face him, and he looked her right in the eye and said Gran was healthy as an ox, and she bloody well knew that, and it’s not like they didn’t know if they would even _have_ somewhere to live, they were just choosing between two houses, and he said it firmly even though he knew there was more to it than that, it was not just choosing between two houses, it was choosing between a house and _home_ , and Margaret got so emotionally attached to things he wasn’t sure how she was going to ever make her choice. And then he said don’t worry about going back to school until she was actually _going_ , numptie, and why on earth was she worried about him? Margaret just looked at him for a minute, looked at him really hard, hard enough to actually make him uncomfortable, and he’d certainly never been looked at by his sister like that before, and he said _what_ a little more shortly than he’d intended, and she put her fists on her hips and told him to sing something for her. Sing one of their dad’s songs. And Billy’s stomach dropped away, and his chest clenched, his whole insides seemed to be sliding around, and he said no and turned away, started walking away, and Margaret skipped to catch up with him and planted herself in his path, stopping him as effectively as he’d stopped her, and demanded why not? Why hadn’t she heard him sing, not even hum, since their mum died, when after their dad died he wouldn’t shut up with it, and he ought to be singing, why wasn’t he singing? And Billy’s fingers curled into fists and suddenly the sharp sadness that had been inside him was pushed aside and joined by a redhot rage, anger beyond anything he’d ever felt before and this wasn’t the kind of anger that would fade quickly like it always had before and Margaret saw the change in him, and she looked a little frightened, but she bravely, softly asked why, Billy? And Billy was so furious he couldn’t even shout, he ground out because it’s gone, Mar, it’s just...fucking... _gone_. And Margaret blinked because she’d never heard her little brother say the f-word before, and she asked what’s gone, Billy, and he snarled his music, the music God gave him was gone, He took it back, and he couldn’t sing and he couldn’t play and his music died with their mum, all right, and there’s the post office and here’s the money and he’d be home later, and before Margaret could protest he spun on his heel and strode away, his rage making his steps quick and long. Margaret shouted after him, and if she had come running after him, even in his fury Billy would have stopped, but she didn't, and Billy knew she'd give him some time and she’d finish their task.

 

_"Billy?" Dom murmured after several long moments of silence. He reached over and took Billy's tightly clenched fist and stroked it until it opened slightly and he could slip his fingers in and caress Billy's palm. "I've never seen you that angry. It doesn't happen often to you, does it?"_

_Billy let out a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. "No. No, it doesn't."_

_"What did you do with all that rage? How did you manage it, Bills?"_

_"I walked."_

 

Billy walked and he walked and walking wasn’t doing anything to let out the wrath that boiled inside him and he started to run. He ran for miles and his lungs were strong and he was used to running when he played footie but he wasn’t used to running flat out for this long and by the time he reached a park and ran halfway through it he had to slow, he had to stop, he had to lay down on the cool damp grass, gasping for breath, and a woman looked concerned as she approached him, paused to ask if he was all right, and Billy, Billy who had never shouted in anger at a stranger in his entire life, very rarely ever shouted at anyone at all, Billy yelled _leave me alone_ , and the affronted woman marched away muttering. Billy lay gasping, and if he hadn’t been so full of anger he would have cried, but as it was the redhot rage dried up the tears before they reached his eyes and what made it all worse was he didn’t even know why he was so painfully furious, didn’t know who or what to direct it at, it just roiled inside him like...like...he didn’t even know what. He thought of the picture of Niagara Falls he’d seen in a textbook at school, tried to imagine a whirlpool at the bottom of Niagara Falls, thought his fury roiled like that whirlpool must, and then he wondered if maybe it was more like a tornado, and he wondered if tornados could be said to roil or if they were really more just spinning and he panted in frustration when distracting himself with imaginings and what ifs and hows and whys didn’t work, when he remained just as angry as he’d been before, and he finally thought maybe he was mad at God for taking his music back, and that’s why his rage was so huge, because it was directed at God, so it would have to be big, wouldn’t it? Billy pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, elbows pointed up to the sky, and in his mind he screamed at God, and it wasn’t even coherent, and even as it filled his head he knew it was childish, but he had to roar his rage even if it was only in his head and he thought why, why did He have to take his dad and God why his mum and then his music, almost the only thing he had left except for Margaret because Gran wasn’t his, he loved her but she wasn’t his and why did He have to take almost everyone he loved and why why why his music he wanted it back please God he needed his music. Suddenly a tiny little corner of his angry mind said and why did Mum leave him, why did she go, and he was horrified by that thought, almost enough for it to push his fury away, but not quite, now he was just furious _and_ horrified that he could be angry with his mum, he knew she hadn’t _wanted_ to leave them, he knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt, so how could he possibly be angry with her?

And in later years, when Billy was older and articles were written about him in newspapers and magazines and online, and people who read his mum died of a heart attack, when those people speculated his mum had really died of a broken heart, he would get very angry, not quite a rage, because by the time he was an adult he had more control over it, but he would get very, very cross that people would think she wouldn’t love her children enough to live for _them_ , that people underestimated that badly how much she had loved her son and her daughter. He knew if her heart hadn’t been weak, which no one knew until too late, and Billy sometimes wondered if it was the medical examiner who had talked to him at the table in the little kitchen that day, if he was the one who discovered her weak heart, if the work and the long hours, and yes, the sadness, if they hadn’t stressed her poor weak heart Billy knew she would have after a while been happy again, that they would have been joyful together again.

Billy sat up, his self-disgust and rage fuelling each other, and he began the long walk home, because a wee tiny part of his brain was urging him to get home because he’d been gone a long time and Margaret was probably getting worried, and if she started going spare their Gran would ask her what was wrong. He didn’t want Margaret to tell her, didn’t want his Gran asking him about his music because Billy didn’t think he could take any more anger and if he had to talk about it, he’d only get more furious and he didn’t know if he could take any more, he really thought he was nearing his limit, and the soul-searing pain he’d been in before was nothing compared to soul-searing pain and burning rage twisting and twining together inside him, and if he kept thinking about it he was going to frighten himself. So instead of thinking about it any longer, Billy counted the spikes on the wrought iron fence he was walking beside, and they were close together so he had to count fast because he wasn’t exactly dawdling, and none of his emotions eased but at least his brain was occupied for a brief time, and when the wrought iron fence ended he counted bricks in the brick wall and when that ended he counted leaves scattered on the walkway, and when there weren’t many of those because really there weren’t that many trees in the scheme, he counted his own steps to his front door, and it got him home without bellowing at the top of his lungs like a wounded animal.

When Billy entered the house, his Gran stepped out from the kitchen and looked at him closely, and Billy was about to snap something but all she said was just in time for dinner, Billy, and she went back into the kitchen. Billy stalked in and dropped into his chair with a kick at the table leg and he saw Margaret flinch ever so slightly but he didn’t care right now, he couldn’t care right now, and his Gran laid a plate in front of him and another in front of Margaret and then she sat down with her own, and she and Margaret began eating but Billy just stared at his plate. He felt Margaret’s eyes flicking back and forth between him and their Gran and he was just about to say something biting when his Gran calmly said, eat, Billy, she made it that afternoon, and Billy knew she was telling him it wasn’t another casserole, she’d noticed he was sick of them, and he grudgingly picked up his fork and ate a bit, but there was so little room in his stomach because it was full of all-consuming rage and he just picked at his plate, with a bite here and there, and finally his Gran sighed and said go up to your room, William, and she may have meant it as punishment, he didn’t know, but to him it was just a release and he shoved back from the table without a word and ran upstairs and slammed the door to his room, throwing himself on his bed, but his fury wouldn’t let him stay still and he ended up standing in front of his window, elbow on the sill, kicking at the bookshelves beside him with the ball of his foot.

Half an hour later there was a knock at his door, and Billy ignored it, not caring if he got in trouble, and he still stood at his window staring out over the back alley kicking his bookcase and he’d switched feet but he’d been kicking so long they were both a little sore but it was nothing compared to the fury inside him so he kept kicking and ignored the second knock on his door. When the door opened anyway, he gritted his teeth and said go away, and his Gran said she would in a moment, and he didn’t turn but he heard her close the door behind her and sit on the edge of his bed, and then she asked Billy was he angry with her or Margaret? And Billy snapped no, spat out why, was he in trouble for being angry, and she calmly said no, but if he continued to speak to her like that he _would_ be in trouble, and he expected her to ask why he was angry but she caught him off-guard by saying his music wasn’t gone forever, it would be back, and Billy spun around, his face red and his eyes blazing and he angrily said Margaret should learn to keep her mouth shut! And his Gran just looked at him and said don’t be daft, William, he knew very well Margaret was just concerned about him, and did he really think she hadn’t noticed anyway? And Billy’s mouth opened, and then clamped shut again and he turned back to the window, and his Gran said again, it wasn’t gone forever, and despite his intention not to say a word, not to talk about it because he’d only get more angry, despite that he whirled again and shouted yes it is, it’s gone, there’s nothing left, God took his music back, and his Gran was shaking her grey head and saying no, Billy, God does not take back what He gives freely and in such abundance. His music wasn’t gone, it was just...and despite not wanting to talk about it Billy waited, furious and anxious at the same time, to hear what she would say, to see if there was any possible way she would be able to give him a little hope, even a tiny little spark of hope that he wouldn’t be bereft of his music for the rest of his life, and impatiently he said what? His music was just what? And his Gran looked at him, frowning, and he added please--please, Gran, and her face softened just a little, and she quietly said perhaps it would help to think of his music as being in mourning too, Billy, it would never entirely forsake him, he had too much music inside of him for it to ever be limited or shut off or contained or destroyed, it would always, always find its way out, but maybe his music had been hurt when _he_ had been hurt, and it was just going to take time and patience and care for it to heal, just like it was going to take time and patience and care for Billy to heal. Billy stared at her, and he felt himself shaking, and he was still full of that unfamiliar redhot rage that had possessed him that afternoon, and yet he found himself quietly, almost desperately asking if he could please go outside for a bit, and his Gran looked at her watch and said be home by eight, Billy, and he was rushing past her, then paused at the door and without turning asked Gran? And when his Gran said yes, Billy, he asked promise? And his Gran said yes, Billy, she promised. And then he was gone, speed fuelled by his anger.

The next day Billy’s rage began to fade, and it took quite a while, longer than he liked because every time he thought he was getting rid of it something would happen to frustrate him, even something quite small like not being able to get the top off a jar, his fury would flare up again and he would grit his teeth and try not to snap at Margaret who was being awfully patient with him, really, and he’d have to be sure to make it up to her, but finally by the end of the evening, when he was actually quite exhausted from his running the day before and being tense and rigid and angry, finally it seemed to let him go, its grip on him slackened, and while he still had seemingly endless sharp, painful sadness inside him for his mum, and while there was still no sign whatsoever of his music returning, his Gran had indeed succeeded in sparking a tiny flame of hope that maybe it someday would. Margaret, sitting on the sofa beside him, looked over at him and saw his head leaning back tiredly, saw his red eyes half closed, and she whispered she hoped he wasn’t angry anymore when she reached over and took his hand, and when he didn’t pull away but gave her hand a squeeze, she brought it over to hold his hand with both of hers, and gently rub the back. Billy closed his eyes and felt overwhelmingly tired and sad and lucky he had such a good sister. He scrunched down on the sofa, lifted his feet up on the seat cushion, and laid down, and for the first time, although certainly not the last, but for the first time in his life he laid his head in his big sister’s lap and let her stroke his hair, let her fuss over him, and he murmured thanks, squirt, and he looked up at her and they shared a tiny, sad little smile, but Billy thought it was probably the first time they’d both smiled since their mum had died, and Billy looked as their Gran walked quickly from the room, but then he was closing his eyes again and Margaret was playing with his hair, and Billy fell asleep curled up by his sister’s side.

The next day Billy went with Margaret to the chippy to buy two packets of chips, since she hadn’t stopped for them the day Billy’s rage had begun, and they took the packets home and shared them out with their Gran too. Their Gran hadn’t known they were going to do that and she was pleased and the three of them sat at the kitchen table with the ketchup between them and talked about nothing and it was unimportant but comforting all the same. Suddenly Margaret, looking down at her chips, said she wanted to live here, she’d thought about it a lot, and she wanted to stay home, and then she looked up at Billy and asked him what he wanted, and he nodded and said he wanted to stay here too, and they both looked at their Gran and Billy asked if that was all right with her and she said of course it was, that was why it had been an option in the first place, and Billy and Margaret looked at each other and smiled a little with relief, one thing off their minds, off their backs, one thing certain when not much else was.


	4. Chapter 4

For a few days, Billy and Margaret spent a lot of time together, going to the shops for their Gran, riding their bikes to the park, going to the library for Margaret. Billy’s teachers had sent him some homework finally, and he and Margaret spent their mornings at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and some biscuits and maths and history and science, and Billy’s music teacher had sent him some theory exercises to work on but Billy took one look at those and shoved them to the bottom of his pile, and Margaret, seemingly wrapped up in her history text, nevertheless reached over and held Billy’s hand, and he sighed rather explosively and muttered he wanted it back, Mar, and she said she knew. Billy stared at the tabletop for a moment, then sighed again and opened his biology textbook.

Those few days were delicate ones, finely-balanced ones, because both Billy and Margaret were slowly, ever so slightly, recovering from their crushing grief, and it was a cause for both relief and guilt, and anger and fear as well, and neither of them was ever sure how the other was going to react to anything, and even their Gran was being extraordinarily gentle and patient with both of them. Billy would suddenly snap at Margaret for nothing at all and she would calmly, softly answer him anyway, and an hour later Margaret was bursting into tears and Billy would hug her until they passed, and after those few delicate days even those moments were happening less and less until one Saturday, more than two weeks after their mum’s funeral, their Gran said they would be returning to school on Monday, and she said it like she expected one or both of them to argue, but although they were apprehensive, Billy and Margaret just said yes, Gran. Their Gran put a hand on each of their heads, and she’d been more like the old Gran lately, no kisses and few hugs, even though she’d been so kind and patient while they were all off-kilter, and her hand on their heads made Margaret’s eyes well up, because Margaret knew, and Billy knew it too, their Gran really and truly meant it when she said she was very proud of them both.

So that Monday Billy and Margaret got up early, got dressed, got their school things together for the first time in what felt like a lot longer than three weeks, and silently ate breakfast with their Gran, eating tasteless porridge and acidic orange juice, and then their Gran gave them their lunches that she had made for them and sent them off, quietly telling them they would be all right. Billy and Margaret walked to school, and Billy told Margaret she’d be fine, and to keep her chin up, and he called her squirt, but it didn’t draw the smile from her he’d hoped for, she just nodded and turned away and he said hey, and she turned back to look at him and he hugged her really tight and said he got out of class before she did, he’d meet her by the main doors and they’d walk home together, yeah? And Margaret nodded and said yeah, and she said thanks, Billy, and he smiled and said don’t expect him to do it every day, now, he knew she loved showing her little brother off and all, but he had his reputation to think of, and that _did_ win a smile, and she said yeah, she loved showing him off so much she was thinking of bringing him to school for her science class on genetics and what could go wrong, and he laughed, actually laughed, and Margaret hugged him so tightly Billy thought she was going to squeeze him in two.

It turned out classes weren’t nearly as difficult as Billy had been afraid they would be, he was a little behind but thanks to the homework he’d done, not so far behind he couldn’t catch up, and while he found it a little hard to concentrate, his teachers mostly quietly welcomed him back and then left him alone so it wasn’t so bad really. The worst part of the whole day, the very worst part, Billy found, was seeing his mates again, and that was because he was different now, or he was a little different at least, and they could see it, his mates could sense the difference in him and they were uncomfortable around him, and he knew they felt badly for him, a couple of them had even punched him lightly in the shoulder and said sorry, yeah? And Billy nodded and said thanks, and he knew they were still mates but it was awkward and uncomfortable and Billy had been looking forward, he found, to hanging out with them at lunch and letting their joking and teasing and faffing about cheer him up a bit, but it didn’t happen, they were quiet and every time one of them made a joke, they’d laugh a bit and then go very quiet and after a while Billy got up, said he’d see them later, and he walked, just wandering around, inside the school and outside, just whiling away time until he had to go back to class.

The second worst part of the day was in the early part of the afternoon, and that was when he realized he had music class next and he couldn’t bring himself to go. He didn’t have his guitar because he couldn’t play anyway, and he couldn’t sing and he couldn’t even hum, and he hadn’t even been able to look at his theory yet and so he turned and went to the library and pulled a book about the theatre off the shelf and sat in an out-of-the-way corner and tried to read, but even a book about the theatre couldn’t hold his attention for long and so after a while he just pretended to read until it was time for his next class.

After his classes were over and Billy could breathe a sigh of relief that he’d gotten through one day, he headed outside straight away and sat on the low brick wall by the main doors to wait for Margaret, and soon older students were streaming out, and then those Margaret’s age were pouring out, chattering and laughing and yelling, and he waited for Margaret as he watched everyone else walking by, and then the stream slowed, until only a few people were trickling out, and Billy frowned, beginning to worry, when an adult came through the doors, looked around, spotted him and came over, and when the lady asked if he was Billy Boyd he truly began to panic and he managed to ask Margaret? And she said Margaret was in the office, and could he come get her? And Billy rushed into the school, leaving the woman behind, he headed straight to the office and he saw Margaret huddled in a chair in the corner, a wad of tissues in her hand and her eyes were red and Billy slowed down, he strolled over to her, trying not to breathe hard like he’d run in, and he flopped into the chair beside her and took her hand and said, “Ready to go, Mar?” and she nodded and bit her lip and was obviously trying not to cry again but was failing rather miserably, and he said come on, then, squirt, they’d head home and she could tell him what had her in such a state, and he pulled her to her feet and led her out of the school and mercifully almost everyone was gone and Margaret stopped trying to hide behind him and they started walking slowly home. Billy gently asked her what happened and then she did start to cry again, and she sobbed that she’d just gotten really sad all of a sudden, she just started to hurt, and she started to cry in class and in front of everyone the teacher had come over to her and hugged her and it was so embarrassing, her teacher hugging her in front of everyone else like she was a baby and she was so embarrassed she cried harder and then her teacher had to lead her out and how was she ever going to face everyone again, she couldn’t go back to school ever again, it was the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to her. Billy looped an arm around her neck and pulled her close as they walked, and she awkwardly walked beside him, her head bent toward his chest, and she cried and she sniffled and Billy let her for a moment longer, and then he said she thought that was humiliating? Nah, that was nothing. He said humiliating would be if she bent over in front of the class and her trousers split up her bum, and he surprised her out of her tears with that, and then he put a little smile in his voice and said or humiliating would be if her skirt blew up and she flashed her knickers in front of the entire school, especially in front of Ewan MacDonald, because didn’t she have a crush on him? And Margaret said Bil- _ly_ with great disdain and--miracle of miracles--a tiny laugh into his jacket, and Billy had to swallow hard before he could grin and say or humiliating would be walking into class with a great mingy gob of green bogey hanging from her nose and at that she pushed him away and declared he was disgusting and she was never speaking to him again and he asked if that was a promise and she said no, a threat, and he said no, that wasn’t a threat, a threat was more along the lines of what if he stole her notebooks and wrote MB + EM in a great big heart all over them and she shrieked and said he’d better not dare! And Billy smiled and pulled her close again and said well, maybe not this week, she was so fickle she’d have a crush on someone else the next week and then he’d just have to scratch out all his hard work and redo it anyway, and did she know what she was going to do the next day? And Margaret asked what, and Billy said she was going to go back to school and she was going to walk into class with her head held high because no one was going to think she was a baby, no one was going to laugh, no one was going to talk behind her back, because they all knew she’d just lost her mum and she was going to walk in there with her pride intact and they were all going to be impressed and say that she had real bottle, that Margaret Boyd did. And Margaret reached over and took his hand.

The next day at school was very much like the first for Billy, except that his mates were maybe just slightly less uncomfortable around him. Maybe it was because he was the first one to make a joke, even though it felt hollow and stilted, but then he was able to just sit back and listen and while they still weren’t taking the piss like they usually did, neither did they make him feel like he needed to leave, and since he skipped music class again that was all right too. After school he waited for Margaret again, and he was a little worried about her, because despite his brave words the day before he knew how hard it was to pluck up the courage to face people you’d embarrassed yourself in front of, and yes, he knew it was embarrassing to cry in front of classmates, not that he’d done it himself, and he could certainly imagine if he did, but there was no choice, really, she’d had to go back and face them, and his relief was immense when he walked outside a few minutes late and found her sitting with two friends on the low wall outside the door, waiting for him. When he approached she stood, said goodbye to her friends, and walked down the few steps to meet him, and Billy said hey, and Margaret said hi, and they turned and began walking home, and Billy looked over at her and said well, how was it, Mar, and she sighed and said it was horrid, but at least no one laughed, and Billy smiled and said see?

At the end of that first week of school, Billy’s Gran told him sternly she wanted to speak with him, and Billy wracked his brain to think of something he’d done wrong, but he couldn’t really think of anything and his Gran looked displeased, but she hadn’t called him William so it couldn’t be too bad. He followed her into the kitchen where she sat at the table and gestured him to do the same, and he sat opposite her. His Gran said she received a phone call from the school today, Billy, and he drew his eyebrows together and before he could worry what he’d done, she said his music teacher called and then Billy knew what it was about and he looked down at the table top and his Gran said he’d been skipping class all week and why had he done that? Billy looked up at her in surprise because she knew his music was gone, and whether or not it ever came back wasn’t really the point right now, the point was it was gone _now_ , and he simply said he couldn’t, and his Gran said her objection was not that he did not attend class, she knew that was difficult for him right now, and Billy was even more surprised by that, and then his Gran said what upset her was that he just skipped it, he didn’t tell her, he did not tell his teacher, and it was very rude to just not show up somewhere he was expected, Billy, it was one thing if he could not attend something, felt he couldn’t participate, but he owed people the respect of letting them know. And he owed her the respect of not leaving her in the dark so she had no idea what his teacher was calling about. Billy saw what she meant and he lowered his head and said yes, Gran, and he was sorry, and then he said it was a class, he just assumed he’d be made to go and he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, and his Gran quietly asked why not, because he couldn’t take part right now? And Billy said yes, he couldn’t even look at his theory and his Gran said she would like him to go to class next week, Billy, and she discussed this with his teacher and it was agreed if he would attend class, he wouldn’t be expected to participate until he was ready, but in order to pass the class he had to attend and he could sit to the side and his teacher would not ask him questions, would not ask him to play or sing, would not even expect him to take tests for now, and did he think he could do that? Billy felt uncomfortable, and he felt miserable, and he said he didn’t know, and his Gran gently said sometimes, Billy, music calls to music, and perhaps if he just sat in the class and listened, it would help his music heal faster, and she didn’t know for sure, but she thought it might, and would he please try it? Then she said he wasn’t the only one who missed his music, and at that Billy felt his eyes fill with tears and he wordlessly nodded and his Gran persisted and asked again would he go to class on Monday, and Billy nodded again, and his Gran quietly said thank you, Billy, and then she said she was very proud of him, and to hear that twice in one week from his Gran, it felt...Billy wasn’t sure how it felt, the nearest he could come was that it felt special, but that sounded really weak for how it sat in the middle of his chest and let off a tiny little glow of comforting, encouraging warmth.

When Monday rolled around, Billy went to his music class like he’d promised his Gran, and he wasn’t happy about it, he was dreading it, in fact, his stomach was in knots and his palms were sweaty and he just kind of slouched into the classroom and sat in the corner, and his teacher nodded an acknowledgement at his presence and proceeded to completely ignore him as per the deal, and Billy sat and listened. He listened to someone do a presentation on Charlie Parker, and it wasn’t so bad, but when they played a bit of a tape they had brought in, and the magical sound of that saxophone filled the room, Billy thought he might have to leave, thought he might have to leave and cry, or punch a locker, or do something else rather violent like that, but he didn’t, he held on, and then the recording was over and the presentation was over and the teacher was telling them to pull out their instruments and warm up. A general cacophony of sound filled the air and filled Billy’s ears, and it was music but it wasn’t, and it didn’t hurt to listen to, and he relaxed a bit in his chair. But when they started playing, practicing a piece they’d begun learning just before...before he left, Billy could hear the empty space where his guitar belonged, could hear the fact that his own part in the music was missing, and then it did hurt, it hurt an awful lot, because he could hear where his guitar belonged, he could hear the emptiness like a sound in itself, but he couldn’t hear his part, the melody he played, couldn’t hear the music that should be rolling effortlessly through his head even while he concentrated on other things. Billy pulled his feet up onto his chair, hugging his knees in to his chest, and tried to block the incomplete music out.

All the days of that week were indistinguishable from one another to Billy, except for two notable exceptions. By midweek, Margaret diffidently told him he didn’t have to wait after school for her anymore if he didn’t want to, if he wanted to hang out with his mates and play some footie, because she’d be fine walking home herself, and Billy merely said okay, but the look he gave her told Margaret volumes about how glad he was she was feeling better. The other exception was music class on Friday, when Billy sat in his corner at the beginning of class and listened to the teacher helping the students with a bit of theory that they apparently found tricky, about what exactly a sustained diminishing seventh was and why they needed to know it, and he suddenly realized it didn’t hurt to listen to them talk about music anymore. It was still hideously uncomfortable to listen to them play and know he couldn’t, to not be able to produce the music that used to flow out of him with such ease, but at least he didn’t feel like crying or punching things anymore, and he found the theory, if he approached it sort of like a maths problem more than as music, might just be manageable after all, and that was rather comforting too, to have at least that back, because he was quite good at theory, really, and could transpose an entire melody (solve the equation) faster than anyone else in the class.

A few more weeks passed, and both Billy and Margaret were almost back to their old selves. Even though they knew they’d never entirely be the way they were before, at least they could laugh again, and have fun with their mates, and Billy and Margaret together were closer than they ever had been before, knowing just when the other needed to be left alone and when they needed to be teased out of their sadness and not feeling odd about hugging like so many of their mates did with siblings. They were too important to each other, they depended on each other too much, to let that go unacknowledged. Billy and Margaret knew that maybe it made them a little peculiar, but without hugs from a mum or a dad, and with a Gran that didn’t hug very much at all either, their hugs for each other were about the only ones they ever got and the comfort they brought was much needed, and Margaret especially had always been very tactile, always needing to hold someone’s hand or be held when she was sad or even just hanging on to someone’s jumper, and Billy knew how she needed the warmth of his hugs.

Which was why, early that winter, the first winter after their mum died, Billy was surprised to notice that Margaret stopped hugging him. At first he thought it was just because they were busy--she was working on two big projects for school and he had the band and his footie games even though it had gotten quite cold recently, and the Dolphin Art Centre on Saturdays, not to mention his own homework, so Billy thought maybe they just hadn’t spent as much time together lately and that’s why it seemed like Margaret wasn’t hugging him as much. But after a few days, he realized no, that wasn’t it, she just wasn’t coming near him, she wasn’t hugging him, she wasn’t curling up next to him on the sofa when they watched TV, she wasn’t holding his hand when she was tired or frustrated or sad, and Billy wondered why, wondered if he’d hurt her feelings somehow, although apart from not touching him she didn’t seem angry with him. Then he noticed her watching him from the corner of her eye, just surreptitious little glances once in a while, with an odd look on her face, and it really started to half worry him and half annoy him, until finally one day he confronted her about it and demanded to know what her problem was.

Margaret put on her most innocent face, not that that was going to fool Billy, not one bit, and she said she didn’t have a problem, was he feeling a little jumpy, and maybe she should make him a nice cup of tea, and Billy glowered at her and said he wasn’t jumpy, thank you very much, now why was she watching him all the time, and why wasn’t she hugging him anymore, and come on, Mar, what was going on? Was she mad at him? And then Margaret looked a little guilty and she said no, no, she wasn’t mad, Billy, and she said she was sorry, she didn’t mean to make him think she was, and Billy opened his mouth to ask well what the hell was wrong, then? But before he could get the words out Margaret whispered she didn’t want to scare it away, she didn’t want to do anything that might stop it from coming back, and Billy frowned and asked her what was she on about, stop what from coming back, and Margaret looked startled and said his music, of course, and Billy just looked at her and walked away, and Margaret didn’t understand how exactly, but she knew she’d made a mistake, she’d hurt him or angered him and she wasn’t sure why, so she went to talk to their Gran.

And when Billy walked away from Margaret he went outside and even though it was cold, cold enough that it might even snow if he kept his fingers crossed, even though it was that cold and damp on top of it, so that the cold seeped right through to his bones and made his hands go red and raw, he did his jacket up to his chin and started walking because he knew if he saw Margaret again in the next half hour he’d say something mean and hurtful and he didn’t want to, even though Margaret almost deserved it for rubbing it in that his music still hadn’t come back. And that was what really made it hurt, he realized, what really stung, was that it was his own sister, his own Mar that had said it, and he knew she hadn’t meant it to smart like that, she probably thought somehow leaving him alone would help, he knew she wanted him to get his music back, but still, she should have known not to rub it in like that, that was hardly likely to help, pointing out the gaping hole inside him, was it? Billy didn’t need reminding his music was gone, any more than he needed reminding that his parents were gone, and he kicked hard at a battered tin can laying in the gutter, kept kicking it in front of him as he walked, brooding over Margaret’s thoughtlessness and his own lack of...well, of music, because he tried to ignore it, he tried not to worry about it, he tried not to probe the lack of it like you probed the hole where a tooth had fallen out, and most of the time he mostly succeeded, even in music class because he focused on his theory and his teacher had even given him extra theory assignments to make up for the lack of...well, of music. And mostly he managed to ignore it, so when Margaret pointed it out, it was sort of like slapping him in the face unexpectedly, and it was the unexpected ones that really hurt, when you saw a blow coming you could steel yourself for it, or maybe even duck it if you were lucky, but when it came out of the blue and caught you off-guard, that’s when it really wounded. Billy knew he’d get over it, he was starting to already and was nearly cold enough to go home, but it still smarted a bit and he’d have to tell Margaret to leave the subject alone in future, it just wasn’t up for discussion in any way, shape, or form and as long as she remembered that they’d be fine.

Billy was just walking through the barren playground in the wee park at the edge of their neighbourhood when it started to rain, and he scowled that it was rain and not snow, and then he scowled even more when it started raining hard. He turned around and headed for home, but by the time he got there he was soaked through and his teeth were chattering and his Gran took one look at him when he got in and ordered him up to his room to change into warm dry clothes and when he came back downstairs his Gran had made tea and she sat him on the sofa in the living room, covered him with the afghan off the back of the sofa, sternly told him to drink his scalding tea, and then asked him what was he thinking, staying out in that cold rain at this time of year, he’d be lucky if he didn’t come down with a nasty cold after that, and Billy protested that it wasn’t raining when he left, and his Gran tsk’d and said he ought to know better, he was old enough to know that just because it wasn’t raining now didn’t mean it wouldn’t be half an hour later. And Billy said, a little grumpily, but his Gran let it pass, he said sorry, but he’d had to go out for a bit, and boys don’t go for walks with _umbrellas_ , Gran, and she’d made some sort of noise of impatience that sounded suspiciously like a sniff, and Billy had protested honestly, Gran, if any of the older boys saw him, and then he paused, and said anyway, he’d try not to get caught in the rain again, and his Gran looked like she wanted to discuss that one, wanted to know just what would happen if the older boys saw him with an umbrella, but to Billy’s immense relief she left that one alone. His relief was short-lived, however, because before he could even sigh his Gran asked him why had he needed to go out for a bit, and Billy tripped over his words a little as he said he’d just had to get out of the house for a while, and his Gran again asked why, and he dropped his eyes and muttered because Margaret said something she shouldn’t have, and he didn’t want to yell at her so he just went for a little walk and was there any more tea? But his Gran was not to be put off, and she sat beside him and asked what did Margaret say, and Billy snorted and said he was surprised Margaret hadn’t gone running to Gran to tell the whole thing and his Gran said don’t be rude, William, and as a matter of fact Margaret _had_ come to see her because she knew she’d said something wrong, but she wasn’t sure which part was wrong so she wasn’t sure how to fix it, and Margaret was quite upset and didn’t want to talk to Billy in case she made things worse, and Billy said then why ask him if she already knew, and his Gran looked at him, and slowly said because she thought there was something important missing, and Billy snapped yeah, his music, and he didn’t need Margaret to remind him of that, to rub it in like that, and could everyone please just stop talking about it because it wasn’t helping, and his Gran said she thought she could tell Billy something that _would_ help, something that he needed to know, and did he want to hear it? And Billy threw back the afghan and said no, he didn’t, and he was going to get more tea, and he walked into the kitchen and poured the dregs from the teapot into his cup.

But as Billy stood at the counter drinking his bitter lukewarm tea, he thought back to how his Gran had given him that spark of hope before, the tiny little hope that lived inside him that one day his music would come back, and he wondered. Even though most of him didn’t want to hear it he walked back into the living room and sat on the sofa and pulled the afghan over himself because suddenly he felt cold again and he looked at his Gran who still sat in the same spot like she’d been waiting for him to come back, and when she asked again if he wanted to hear it, Billy nodded.

Billy’s Gran was silent for a moment, and Billy thought that now the time had come to tell him whatever it was, she wasn’t sure how to say it, and he didn’t know if that was reassuring or just made him nervous, and then his Gran said Margaret was a very observant lass, and she’d noticed before anyone else that Billy’s music was slowly, quietly coming back, but Billy hadn’t felt it yet, had he? And Billy couldn’t answer but he knew the way he stared wide-eyed at his Gran told her that he hadn’t, and she said whenever Margaret had hugged him or held his hand or distracted him, it had ceased, and she didn’t want it to stop, Margaret knew how much Billy needed his music back, and that’s why she’d stopped hugging him, why she’d said she didn’t want to scare it away. And Billy stared in confusion at his Gran and said but--but it _wasn’t_ back, and his Gran gave him a small, gentle smile and said no, it wasn’t back yet, but it was on its way, she’d seen it and heard it herself, and desperate to believe her, Billy asked seen what, heard what, he didn’t understand, and his Gran said he was tapping his foot or drumming his fingers in steady rhythms, something he hadn’t done since...since his music had gone, and when the radio was on or there was music on TV and Billy was wrapped up in something else, in his homework or the washing up, he moved in time to the music, just a bit, but he did, and she said it was on its way, Billy, just be patient a little longer. It took Billy a moment to find his voice, to be able to ask but why didn’t he know? Why didn’t he feel it, why didn’t he feel that rhythm or feel the music from the radio inside him, how could it be coming back and he not even know it? And Billy’s Gran shook her head and said she didn’t know, maybe deep down inside Billy did know it and he was afraid of frightening it away too, or maybe it had just snuck up on him, but it was coming back, and Margaret hadn’t realized Billy didn’t know yet and she hadn’t meant to hurt him, and perhaps he could explain to Margaret so she wouldn’t feel so bad? All Billy could do was nod, and then nod again, and his Gran quietly got up and left the room and left him to his thoughts.

And Billy’s thoughts were all over, were whirling through his brain, and he thought if his rage had been the ferocious whirlpool at the base of Niagara Falls, then this, _this_ was the tornado like the one in _The Wizard Of Oz_ , spinning and spiraling and disorienting him until he hardly knew which way was up, because he was filled with relief and something that would approach joy if he were capable of actual joy these days which he wasn’t, and a nearly paralyzing fear that this was it, this was as far as his music was going to return, that all he would ever have for the rest of his life was an ear for a rhythm, was a little finger-drumming, and he thought he’d rather have nothing than have such a paltry, trivial little puddle of what used to fill him up to overflowing. And then he thought no, better that than nothing at all, and then he thought he didn’t know what to think and the tornado in his head sped up, spun and twisted faster, and then Margaret came in, and Billy knew their Gran must have sent her. She stood in the doorway with one foot nervously rubbing at her other calf, waiting for some sort of signal, some sign of which way Billy’s mood had gone, and when he held out one corner of the afghan and said come on then, Mar, she raced over and leapt onto the sofa with an _oomph_ and sat beside him with her feet tucked up under her as he tossed the corner of the crocheted blanket over her.

Billy said sorry, squirt, and Margaret leaned her head on his shoulder and said she was sorry too, she didn’t mean to upset him, and Billy said he just hadn’t known, hadn’t known any of his music had come back, so when she brought it up, it just seemed...it seemed like...and Billy couldn’t really finish that thought, not in a way that wouldn’t make Margaret feel worse, but she understood what he meant and said she didn’t mean to rub it in, she really didn’t, and she was so glad it was starting to come back. Billy put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a bit of a squeeze and said he was going to try not to think about it just yet, there wasn’t quite enough of his music back yet to make him feel better, and he’d missed her hugs. Margaret’s eyes filled with tears, although she wasn’t really crying, not with sniffling and odd little noises like she usually did, just big silent tears that quivered on her lashes before spilling over, and Billy said aw, Mar, don’t, please don’t, and Margaret wrapped her arms tightly around his stomach and whispered she’d missed them too, but more than anything she missed Billy’s music, she wanted to hear him sing so much and she just wanted him to know that but she wouldn’t mention it again, she promised, and he said just for a little while, just until a bit more of it came back, okay? And Margaret nodded hard and then she _did_ cry, sobbing odd little noises into his jumper, and Billy rocked her and whispered into her ear and when her weeping eased he asked her what that was for, what was going on with her lately, he felt like he hadn’t talked to her in weeks, and Margaret gulped and said nothing new, really, just school, and Billy said just school wouldn’t make her cry like that, what’s with the sogginess? And that gave Margaret a tiny, wobbly little smile like he had intended it to and she said, she whispered, and Billy thought really it was almost a whimper and he tightened his arms around her, Margaret whispered that she didn’t want Christmas this year, and Billy was surprised, he hadn’t even spared a thought for Christmas yet and it was only a few weeks away, and he wasn’t sure why talking about his music had made her cry about Christmas, so he asked her why not, she’d always loved Christmas, and Margaret nearly wailed as she said why not, he wasn’t seriously asking her why not, was he, how could he even have to _ask_ her why not? Billy huffed a tiny laugh into her hair over the disbelief in her voice and said, well, it was probably going to be the worst Christmas they’d ever had, ever would have, and it was likely to be an awfully quiet one, but it was still Christmas, Mar, and Christmas was special, they couldn’t just _not have_ Christmas. Margaret muttered they could too, and Billy rocked his sister a bit again and said that wouldn’t make her feel any better, and she knew full well their mum would’ve wanted them to have at least a bit of a Christmas, and besides, he already knew what he wanted to get her, and if they didn’t have Christmas then he couldn’t get it for her and he wanted her to have it. And Margaret lifted her head to look at him, a little diverted by the thought of a present like Billy had hoped she would be, and although she didn’t look as pleased as he would have liked, she did ask what was it, and Billy teasingly, scornfully said yeah, like he was going to _tell_ her, she was just going to have to wait for Christmas morning, wasn’t she? And Margaret put her head back on Billy’s chest and said guess so, and then Billy said they were going to have to think up something really nice for their Gran, because she deserved a really nice, really special present because she’d been awfully sad too and yet she’d done everything for Billy and Margaret that they needed. At that Margaret nodded and said yeah, they should, and Billy knew he’d talked her past her wish to not have Christmas at all, and then Margaret added it still wasn’t going to be right, though, and Billy said of course it wasn’t, not without Mum and Dad, and Margaret said or without his music, she was really, really going to miss his singing at Christmas, and then Billy understood how they’d gotten onto the topic. He said he was going to miss it too, he used to love singing Christmas carols, but they’d make do without, and who knew, maybe his music would come back enough for him to manage one or two songs, they could always hope, right?

Something twisted inside Billy when he said that, it actually physically hurt, but Margaret needed to hear it, and maybe even though it hurt, he did too, and somehow Margaret knew that it had been painful and she sat up a bit to look him in the eyes and say yeah, they could hope, then she said a little more strongly they _would_ , and he’d better not give up, because she knew his music would be back eventually, she just knew it. She wrapped her arms around Billy’s neck and hugged him tightly and he was awed anew, wondered anew at the way they switched roles, gave and took and gave again, and even though Margaret was older than he was, she was still young in so many ways, even so, it amazed him sometimes how much she was able to comfort him, almost as much as his mum had been able to, and he leaned his forehead on her shoulder.

And in later years, when Billy was older and Margaret was older and any age difference at all didn’t seem like anything anymore, Billy was so glad, was so grateful to have had his sister, a very best friend he could turn to in times of need, times when he was lonely or hurt or even times when he needed someone to celebrate with, someone to share his joy, it was always Margaret he called first, before anyone else, and Margaret was the same, even when Billy was on the other side of the world. The day Margaret got engaged she called him at four in the morning knowing he wouldn’t care, and of course he didn’t, and they talked until Billy had to leave for Feet an hour later, and he made her swear she wouldn’t run off and get married without him there, because he had been feeling a little homesick, and he was missing her terribly, and she laughed at him and said she couldn’t get married without him, she needed an emcee for the reception, and someone had to wear the Boyd tartan, and she rather thought the band was going to need a lead singer, and then Billy laughed too and asked did she need him to officiate and tend the bar as well, then? And once again they had given and taken and given, and Billy was grateful and knew it would always, always be that way.

The few weeks before Christmas that first year after his mum died passed slowly and mostly uneventfully for Billy. He threw himself into his schoolwork and into his acting, because he’d gotten the lead role in the Christmas panto at the Dolphin Art Centre, and he’d been quietly pleased with that because he’d always been cast, almost every show they did he’d had some sort of role, but this was the first time he’d had the lead. While it wasn’t a big production they put on, his character would be onstage almost the whole time and it was a good chance for him to stretch himself, to find out if he could carry off so much of the production himself.

And then one day, right before Christmas, it happened. Billy was walking home from school and thinking about the panto which was that weekend, and he’d already got Margaret and his Gran their tickets, and he hadn’t been sure that Margaret would want to go, but she just scoffed at him and said as if she’d miss it, idiot, and he’d grinned and tickled her until she begged, eyes watering from shrieking with laughter like she used to, for him to stop, and so he’d stopped and she’d punched him and he’d just laughed at her, and their Gran had continued on with her knitting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but Billy caught the tiny smile on her lips, and felt more contented than he had in a long, long time. But that day right before Christmas caught him off-guard, when, as he walked home from school thinking about the panto, he found himself humming.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, suddenly breathless, then sank down onto the low wall in front of someone’s house, and didn’t know what to do, didn’t know if he should try and make it happen again, if he should try humming a tune, or if he should just ignore it and hope it happened again on its own, hope he’d just go back to humming all the time without even realizing it, and then he wondered if he could sing again, after all humming meant he had a tune in his head, didn’t it, so he opened his mouth and quietly tried to sing, but his voice cracked and then stopped, so he didn’t try again, but he discovered he could hum, he could hold a tune in his head and not have it hurt in his chest, and just because he could, he sat there on that low brick wall and hummed song after song, and he couldn’t quite manage his dad’s songs, but he could hum songs off the radio, and he knew there would be more. For the first time he truly believed his music would come back, maybe, maybe even all the way to the brim like he’d been before, and suddenly he wanted to cry but he couldn’t because he was too far from home and if he was seen crying by any of the bigger lads that hung out on the sidewalks he’d get the shite beaten out of him for sure, so he walked quickly with his head down and when he finally made it home, what seemed like hours later, he went straight to his room and quietly closed the door and laid on his bed with his shoes still on and wept for a long, long time.

Two days later Billy performed in the Christmas panto at the Dolphin Art Centre with Margaret and his Gran in the audience and he performed his role, onstage almost the whole time, with ease and grace and a maturity a little beyond his years, and he felt different somehow as he said his lines without hesitation. It felt almost like his head was split in half, that the front half was talking as his character and actually _was_ his character, was thinking and doing and breathing as his character, but the back half of his head was still himself, was Billy, and was observing dispassionately everything the front half of his brain did and making notes for later. And it was actually a little unnerving, really, to have two halves to his brain; didn’t they say people were mad for something like that? But it didn’t happen all the time, only when he was performing on stage, and it really did make everything so much easier so he accepted it and was kind of grateful for it and didn’t tell anyone about it when they congratulated him after the show on his wonderful performance. It was almost a relief to have something take over his mind like that, occupy every single corner of his mind, take the place of his music, but no, that wasn’t right, he thought, because nothing could take the place of his music, but maybe this increased aptitude for acting disguised the fact that he was no longer full to the brim, it kept him company when he no longer had his music, or had just a little of it, anyway. And Billy never put it into words, not even to himself, but he still felt somewhere deep inside that maybe he should hang on to the acting even if his music came back fully, not depend quite so heavily for his happiness on the gifts he’d been given when he snuck into line three times because you just never knew, did you? But for now he could enjoy the acting, could be fascinated by this two-halved brain phenomenon and let it help him get other roles, and just not tell anyone he was thinking as two different people at the same time in case they thought he’d gone funny.

In fact it was years before Billy ever told anyone about it, not until he was older and was studying acting, was learning from people who knew, really _knew_ , it wasn’t until he spoke with other actors and heard that the same thing had sometimes happened to some of them, this two-halved process that allowed for such minute examination of what the character was saying and doing, it wasn’t until he realized that it most definitely didn’t mean he was mad, that he told anyone, and even then it was only one or two actor friends, and Margaret, and even Margaret stared at him for a second before laughing and saying well, whatever it was, it worked. He never even considered telling any of his mates, who all thought he was a bit of a nutter for giving up a good job and some good gigs for _acting_ in the first place.

On Christmas Eve, during the afternoon while she was putting the roast in the oven for Christmas Eve dinner, Billy’s Gran announced they would be going to evening service at kirk that night so Billy and Margaret should make sure they were neat and tidy before dinner, because they’d have to leave very soon afterwards, and they both nodded and Margaret went upstairs to see what she had to wear. Billy walked out to the living room and had a sudden thought and walked back into the kitchen and asked his Gran where they were going, and his Gran gave him a bit of an odd look and said to kirk, Billy, for Christmas Eve service, and Billy asked _what_ kirk--which kirk were they going to? His Gran returned to peeling potatoes and said the same kirk they always went to, of course, and Billy quietly said then he wasn’t going and before his Gran could say a word he hurried out and went up to his room. He would have gone outside for a walk but it was cold and raining and would be getting dark soon, and he’d only catch it from his Gran when he got back if he did that, so instead he went to his room and he leaned his arms on the narrow windowsill and rested his chin on his arms and stared down at the puddles in the back alley. He knew his Gran would be up, he was waiting for her to come up and tell him he most certainly _was_ going to kirk tonight with her and Margaret, and he was waiting to be frog-marched down the stairs, and knew if he refused, especially for something so important to her, he would probably be grounded, and he didn’t care. She could ground him for a month if she wanted to--now that the panto was over, of course--because he wasn’t going.

It was almost an hour before there was a knock on the door, and Billy’s stomach was knotted with tension and worry and anxiety about how long exactly his Gran was going to lecture him for, because she must have been very angry indeed if it took her almost an hour to come up to his room, and this really wasn’t how he wanted to spend Christmas Eve, not this year, not any year really, but oh, most especially not this year. Billy jumped a bit when the knock at his door came, and he said come in just loud enough to be heard from where he sat at his desk trying and failing to read. His Gran came in, and oddly enough she didn’t sit down, just came a few steps into the room and stood there, and Billy closed his book so his Gran wouldn’t think he was ignoring her, but he didn’t turn to face her, just waited with bowed head to get in trouble, because he knew that from his Gran’s point of view, he deserved it, you just didn’t refuse to go to kirk on Christmas Eve. And so Billy was very surprised indeed when his Gran quietly said she knew there was something she hadn’t thought of, something that they must see differently, and she was very sorry, Billy, but she didn’t know what it was, and would he please tell her, so they could work it out? And Billy was so astonished he just sat there for a second, trying to take in the fact that, far from being in trouble, his Gran was apologizing to him, and it wasn’t until she started speaking again, saying please, that he turned around and looked up and said no--no, it’s okay, Gran--and then he told her it was just that...well, just that he didn’t want to go _there_. Not that he didn’t want to go to kirk, really, he didn’t mind going even though he couldn’t sing, but he didn’t want to go there. And his Gran frowned, not in anger, but like she still didn’t understand, and that surprised Billy too because she’d understood so much over the last few months, more than he ever expected, and he said he couldn’t--he couldn’t go in there, not yet, maybe not ever but definitely not yet because the last time he was there they buried his mum and the time before that they buried his dad and he couldn’t go there, especially not on Christmas Eve, and his Gran’s face had changed with understanding before he was halfway through but he finished anyway. His Gran came over to him then, and she rested her thin hand on his head and said she was sorry, Billy, that she hadn’t thought of that, she herself had too many happy memories in that kirk for recent sad ones to erase, but he and Margaret couldn’t have, and she saw that now, and would he go to kirk if they went to a different one? And Billy said but she always went to that one, he didn’t want to--and his Gran interrupted him then, gently cut him off saying she always went to kirk on Christmas Eve, yes, but it didn’t matter where as long as they were together, and she couldn’t leave him home alone on Christmas Eve, not this year, and Billy thought he might cry at that, and his throat tightened and his eyes prickled, but he managed not to actually cry, and then he nodded and said he’d go if they could go somewhere else.

That evening after their roast beef dinner, Billy and Margaret and their Gran went to kirk, and their Gran didn’t drive very often but she’d kept Billy’s mum’s car and she drove them out of the scheme to a different neighbourhood to a little white clapboard kirk that she said was a nice kirk some of her friends attended, and they could just sit at the back and keep themselves to themselves if they wanted to. When they entered the kirk and hung up their jackets in the little vestibule, Billy’s Gran pointed them to a back pew and left them briefly to greet her friends, and Billy slid into the pew and Margaret slid in after him and they talked a bit about the people walking in, and Billy took the opportunity to tell Margaret that if she needed anything, either that night or tomorrow, because it was Christmas, then she should tell him, she should let him know if--if she needed anything, okay, Mar? And Margaret nodded and said ditto for him, and then asked if it would be okay if she maybe held his hand for a bit? Billy smiled down at her and said ewww, hold hands with his sister? She was a right numptie, wasn’t she, and then of course he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze and held it through almost the whole service, sometimes absently rubbing the back of it with his other thumb when he wasn’t focused inwardly so intensely that he couldn’t see or feel anything on the outside.

Because Billy was focusing very hard indeed, and he was focusing on his music, because all the Christmas carols were doing something peculiar to him, and he thought about the phrase his Gran had used that he had thought at the time was odd, but maybe it wasn’t; she’d said that sometimes music calls to music, and Billy thought maybe it was actually true, because the carols that he loved, carols like _Hark the Herald Angels Sing_ and _Joy to the World_ were...and the only way Billy could think to put it was that they were ringing inside him, loud and pure and clear like the bells on top of the cathedral in the city proper. When he heard _Oh Come All Ye Faithful_ , which of course was _Adeste Fidelis_ , the Latin hymn his dad had worked so hard to teach him, he found himself singing it inside his head. And Billy knew it wasn’t _quite_ singing, not yet, but he was almost, almost there, and he didn’t want to try it in the kirk with Margaret right beside him in case he couldn’t get it out yet, and he didn’t want to try with Margaret right beside him in case he could, because he rather thought she might get a bit emotional, and he was actually having a hard time keeping his emotions under control himself, but he just concentrated on singing inside his head and it kept the joy, fear, and longing at bay and besides, now Billy had something extra, something special, to give Margaret and his Gran for Christmas tomorrow, as long as he really could sing out loud, and he wondered how he was going to find out whether or not he could, because if he tried back at the house they would hear and he wanted to keep it a surprise for one more day, he wanted even to keep it just for himself for one more day, to hold it close inside him. So Billy quietly got to his feet and gave Margaret’s hand a squeeze and gave her a little smile, and he whispered to his Gran he’d be right back, and when she looked at him closely he whispered he was okay--just needed some fresh air for a minute, and when she nodded Billy crept out past them and without even pausing to grab his jacket quietly opened and closed the outside door and walked around the side of the kirk and a little away from the building.


	5. Chapter 5

Billy looked up at the sky, but there were no stars out, though it wasn’t raining, and it was cool enough for him to see his breath a little, but he felt so flushed with dread and anticipation and hope that he didn’t even feel the chill. Billy took a deep breath and then let it out with a rush of anger with himself that he was almost too afraid to even try and he paced around for another moment, and then leaned on the fence that enclosed the kirk on its quiet city street and leaned his head on top of his arms because maybe it would be easier if he wasn’t trying to fill the air and the silence all around him, maybe if he just tried to fill the air and the silence captured within the circle of his arms. And Billy opened his mouth and began to sing.

It was quiet. It was a little quavery. It cracked a bit. But he could sing, and while it didn’t come with ease like before, it came with more joy simply for its presence, and Billy had to fight back tears again as he quietly sang _Adeste Fidelis_ and thought about his dad, and how his mum would be so glad he was singing again, and that _did_ make him weep, even as he realized he’d used the present tense for his mum but that it felt right, and Billy wasn’t entirely sure he believed in Heaven and Hell, but he was pretty sure he believed in _something_ , and that his mum knew, and his dad too for that matter, and that they would be so glad his music was back enough for him to sing.

Billy stood up straight and dried his eyes on his jumper, tugged on the tie at his throat underneath it. He knew he had to get back inside soon before Margaret and his Gran started to worry, but he took a second to look up at the sky, and while he felt a little foolish in a way, it also felt right because it was Christmas Eve, and so Billy looked up at the sky and said a quick but fervent thank you to God, or whoever else might be listening, and then he took a deep breath of the cold night air and went back into the kirk, opening the door and closing it again as quietly as he could in case they were praying inside, but they were singing again, and they were singing _Angels From The Realms Of Glory_ and Billy loved that hymn and it was actually almost hard to keep from singing himself, and that in itself gave him a little glow inside as he snuck back into the pew past his Gran and Margaret, sat down, and took Margaret’s warm hand in his own cold one.

The next morning, Christmas morning, Billy woke late, and he was surprised Margaret hadn’t been in to rouse him yet, because for all her unhappiness over Christmas this year she had really been looking forward to giving their Gran her present, and whenever she was anticipating something nice she tended to wake up early, and of course their Gran was usually up early, and in fact he knew his Gran _was_ up, because he could smell something really good, something that was making his stomach rumble, and Billy got up, pulled some socks on and donned a jumper right over his pyjamas like he and Margaret had always done Christmas morning, and went downstairs. Billy found Margaret and his Gran in the kitchen, just taking a pan of sticky buns out of the oven, and Billy’s stomach growled so loudly they both turned, laughing, and Billy smiled and said happy Christmas and his Gran smiled back at him and said happy Christmas, William, and Margaret came over to give him a big hug, her nose buried in his jumper, and she said happy Christmas too, even though it was a bit muffled with her face pressed against him like that, and Billy hugged her tight and kept her there, resting his cheek on the top of her head, and asked his Gran if there was by any chance some tea made, and his Gran pointed with her chin toward the teapot on the table as she cut apart the sticky buns and he told her they smelled really good, even all the way upstairs, and his Gran smiled and said trust a growing boy to be woken by his nose. Billy stood where he was, arms around Margaret, content to stay there until she was ready, and indeed it was a few more moments before she pulled away and started fussing over getting his tea, and he let her, guessing she needed something to fidget over for a few minutes while she gathered herself back together. Then she was handing him a mug and their Gran was handing each of them a plate with a sticky bun on it and then their Gran put the small turkey in the oven and they went into the sitting room and took their usual spots.

Billy’s Gran looked at him and asked if he would prefer the radio or the television, and Billy said television please, afraid that if he said radio and there was a Christmas carol he loved, he might start to sing before he was ready to show them. So Billy’s Gran nodded and he got up and turned the TV on and put on the Christmas programming on the Beeb because he knew that’s what his Gran would like, and they ate their sticky buns and drank their tea and then Billy had a second sticky bun as they watched the Queen’s Christmas Message because their Gran watched it every year. Then it felt a bit uncomfortable because it was time to open presents but there just wasn’t the excitement, the anticipation of years past, they didn’t have a Christmas tree, just a few small decorations and a garland on the mantle over the electric fire they never used with the little pile of wrapped packages sitting on the floor in front of it, and a wreath on the front door for appearances and it felt so odd to Billy, it felt like Christmas because it was, but at the same time it didn’t feel at all like Christmas because so much was missing and it was almost as if they were pretending at Christmas, like they were doing a scene from a play here in their own home. Margaret was sitting on the sofa beside Billy with her knees drawn up to her chest and he could tell she felt the same, especially when she leaned her chin on her knees and asked him if he remembered that one tree their dad had brought home one year, and before she said anything else he smiled because he knew which one she meant, and Margaret said the one that was so tall it wouldn’t fit in the room, and she looked to the corner where the tree had always gone and said and he’d had to cut off half the bottom to get it in, and then the branches were so low she and Billy had had to lay on the floor to peek at their presents, and Billy laughed because he did remember that, and he said remember how their mum wouldn’t let their dad go alone the next year to get the tree, and all four of them ended up going out one Saturday because their mum didn’t trust their dad not to get one that was far too big again, and Margaret laughed too. And then their Gran, smiling, said when their mum had been a wee lassie, she had insisted on naming the Christmas tree every year, until she was about seven. Billy grinned and said she _named_ them? Margaret smiled and said she never knew that, and their Gran said their mum had probably forgotten all about it, it hadn’t been unusual to her, she’d had a habit of naming everything, really, and then their Gran spent nearly twenty minutes telling them stories of their mum when she had been little, and most of the stories Billy and Margaret had never heard before and they listened with all their hearts and with a determination to remember and suddenly the day, Christmas Day, was special again, in a different, quieter way, of course, but it didn’t feel so terribly wrong.

When their Gran said enough of the past for one day, all that talking had made her thirsty and she was going to make some tea, Margaret, who usually would let her Gran sit and would go make it for her, Margaret let her go and when their Gran was out of the room she leaned against Billy, nudged into his ribs with her elbow until he lifted his arm and put it over her shoulders and pulled her close, her knees still tucked to her chest, and she whispered Gran was so good, Billy, and listening to those stories had been great and she wanted to always remember them, but...and Billy quietly said but? And Margaret said she really, really missed their mum and dad.

Billy heard the tears in her voice, and he softly said wheesht now, no crying, they should give Gran a nice day, yeah, Mar? And then he said ‘sides, Mum and Dad would be pleased they were smiling, even if their mum might’ve been a bit embarrassed by the stories! And Margaret gave a bit of a sniffly giggle and said yeah, especially the one about her naming her Christmas trees, and then she said okay, Billy, she’d try not to cry today, and Billy, thinking about his surprise for her and their Gran, said well, at least not with sadness, and before Margaret could notice the oddity of that remark considering what a difficult day it was, and how could he possibly think she’d cry from anything _other_ than sadness, before she could ask he’d gotten to his feet and said he was just going to get a bit more tea, would she like a cup? When Margaret nodded, Billy said why didn’t she play Father Christmas, then, while he was gone, and put the presents by their seats, and he went to the kitchen where he found his Gran just fixing her tea, and she looked up at him and quietly asked if everything was all right, and Billy gave her a little smile and said yeah--and thanks for the stories, Gran, that was really nice, and she said he was very welcome, and maybe she’d tell them a few more again soon, if they wanted, and all Billy could do was nod.

When Billy and his Gran returned to the sitting room, they found Margaret back on the sofa, but by each of their spots were a few wrapped packages, and she was smiling as Billy handed her tea to her. As their Gran sat in her chair with a sigh, Margaret whispered that their Gran should be first and Billy nodded and sat beside her. Their Gran looked over at them and, pleased with their smiles, said all right, who was going first, oldest or youngest, and Billy and Margaret simultaneously said oldest and she chuckled and said she was outnumbered, obviously. She leaned over and picked up one of two packages at her feet and placed it on her lap and looked at the little tag that read love Margaret and Billy and she carefully opened the paper and out of habit folded it precisely and placed it to the side. She opened the box and lifted the tissue and held up the cardigan and said oh, it’s lovely, and she truly sounded like she meant it and she thanked them both, and Billy said Margaret picked it out--he didn’t know one jumper from another, really, and Margaret blushed with pleasure when her Gran said it was wonderful, and she’d just been thinking about getting a new warm one, her old one was getting a bit worn, so this was just perfect, and why didn’t Margaret open one now? Margaret protested they’d started with the oldest, it was Billy’s--but Billy cut her off saying they’d switch the order up a bit, oldest, mediocre, and then just right, and he grinned as Margaret swatted him and retorted oldest, just right, and then beastliest, but she tucked her toes under his knee as she leaned down to pick up one of her presents, and she didn’t shake him off as he held onto her ankle while she tore the paper open before remembering to look at the tag and see it was from her Gran, and then she gasped with something approaching delight to find an entire set of Jane Austen books in her lap. She’d read some of them and loved them, but the library didn’t carry them all, and of those it did, some of them were missing pages here and there because they were so often-read, and Margaret whispered oh, thank you, Gran, and then she jumped up and ran over and gave her Gran a hug and a kiss on the cheek as her Gran smiled and said she was very welcome indeed, and Margaret returned to the sofa and sat with her feet up again, looking at the books as she said it was beastly's turn now.

Billy leaned down and picked up a large but not very heavy square box that according to the tag was from Margaret, and he tore off the paper to find a plain brown cardboard box, and lifting an eyebrow at her as she looked at him now rather than at her books, he slit the tape with his thumbnail and lifted the flaps, and from inside he withdrew a brand new football, and tied around it was a Glasgow Rangers scarf, and he delightedly said oh, that’s just fantastic, that is, and Margaret smiled almost as widely as he did as he untied the scarf from around the black and white ball and wrapped it about his neck, and as he reached over and gave her a hug and said thanks ever so much, Mar, he held it under his arm and then with a grin sat back and asked her if she’d play keeper for him for a bit that afternoon so he could try it out and she nodded eagerly as their Gran made a noise of disgust that neither of them believed for even a second thanks to the smile on her face.

Then it was their Gran’s turn again, and Billy watched with just a touch of trepidation as she began unwrapping the last gift from by her chair, reading the tag that read love Billy and Margaret, because he was ninety-five percent sure that it was good, that it was perfect, even, but that last five percent had him holding his breath as she carefully folded up the paper and set it aside and looked down at the photo album in her lap, and he sighed with relief as she opened it and smiled as she looked down at the first picture, an old one of Billy and Margaret’s mum and dad back when they had been courting, just after their dad had returned from America as a matter of fact, and then Billy’s Gran was flipping through page after page of photos of her daughter, her son-in-law, her grandchildren. Most of them were on the old side, in fact Billy didn’t think there was one where he was more than eight years old, but there were lots, and there were many she didn’t recognize, and she finally raised her head and asked how on earth had they done this and Billy said their uncle had helped them, Billy had called him and asked for any old pictures of his mum and dad that his uncle might have, and then he’d told Billy that in Gran’s house was an entire shoebox of pictures that had somehow never made it into albums and he told Billy he’d nick it for him the next time he was in Glasgow staying at the house on business, and sure enough he had, delivering it to Billy after school one day just before classes let out for the Christmas hols, and Billy and Margaret had had some photos as well, so they sorted them out and put them all in an album for her. Their Gran looked at it again, then said but they couldn’t give away all their pictures--but Billy interrupted her saying they weren’t, they could still see them anytime they liked because the album would be in their house, and his Gran had looked at him very seriously and said she’d make sure they had it back one day, and Billy nodded without examining that too closely because it wasn’t a day to think of yet another loss, and Margaret suddenly asked she did like it, didn’t she? And their Gran said come here, Margaret, and Margaret went over to her and her Gran put a gentle arm around her waist and said it was the loveliest, most thoughtful gift she had received in a long, long time, and she snugged Margaret tightly against her side and said thank you, dear, and she looked over at Billy and said thank you, too, William, for all his sly tricks, and then they were all smiling again and Margaret returned to the sofa as her Gran rested her hands on top of the album on her lap and kept them there as she told Margaret to open her present from Billy.

Margaret picked up the large but not too heavy box wrapped with newspaper, and with an eager little smile that proved Christmas hadn’t completely lost its magic after all, she tore off the paper and opened the box, then grinned at Billy in exasperation and lifted out a second, slightly smaller, newspaper-wrapped box from inside it, and when she’d opened it to reveal a third she groaned and on the fourth she wailed _Billy_ , and when the fifth was wrapped with Christmas paper she thought that was it and she grinned and tore it open to reveal a sixth box and Billy was falling about at her dire threats that lost their force when she giggled, and even their Gran was quietly laughing now, and when she opened the sixth box to reveal a tiny little box wrapped with red Christmas paper, she knew she’d finally reached the end, and she shoved all the detritus of her present onto the floor and sat cross-legged on the sofa and carefully peeled off the last of the paper to reveal a gold box. When Margaret lifted the lid, a folded piece of paper fell out into her lap, and Billy, smiling, said read that first, so Margaret unfolded it and read the note Billy had written, which said _Mum told me to always take care of you, Mar. She said there would be times in my life when I wouldn’t be able to and that she hoped I’d always come back for you after those times, and I told her I would. This is so you’ll remember I’ll always be back, no matter what. You and me, squirt._ And Margaret’s smile wavered as she looked up at Billy, whose face was so gentle at that moment, and with a hand that trembled just a bit, she lifted up the small piece of foam to see the necklace, the gold chain sparkling, the small gold pendant in the shape of a treble clef nestled in the cotton, and she squeaked Billy’s name and stared at it, and he said remember when he got his guitar, and their mum had said there was a story behind it? And when Margaret nodded he continued, saying well, there was a very similar story behind this necklace, and he’d tell it to her later, but this necklace was very important, and she shouldn’t ever take it off, not ever, okay, Mar? And Margaret nodded again, and she carefully picked it up out of the box and looked at it closely for a long moment, then slowly undid the clasp and held the two tiny ends out to Billy and shuffled herself around so he could lift it over her head, and she lifted her hair out of the way while he nimbly fastened it for her, and then she turned again to wrap her arms around his neck and hang on tight as she whispered thank you, Billy, she’d never take if off again.

And indeed, the only times the necklace ever left Margaret’s neck were when the chain broke when she was seventeen, and she was a wreck the entire week it was in being repaired, and when she went in hospital to have her appendix out when she was twenty-one, and _Billy_ was a wreck for the three days she didn’t have it on, but that had as much to do with the surgery and being back in a hospital for the first time in a decade as anything else, and he never told Margaret, but he wore it under his shirt for the three days as a sort of talisman to ensure she would be all right, and when the nurses finally gave in to her pestering and said she could wear her necklace again, Billy clasped it around her neck himself.

When Margaret finally let go of Billy’s neck, their Gran gave them a moment to collect themselves, and then she reminded Billy he had one more gift to open, so Billy leaned down and picked up the flat, flimsy package by his feet and set it on his lap before reading the tag that said love Gran and carefully ripping the paper open to reveal a small magazine that looked almost like a theatre programme, and then when he looked closer and opened the cover and read a bit, he realized it _was_ a theatre programme, and he looked up at his Gran, frowning, not understanding, and his Gran smiled and said keep looking, so he kept turning pages in this programme for a production of _As You Like It_ at a small theatre at the east end of the city centre, and when he flipped a little faster, wondering what it meant, he reached the middle and found the tickets, and there were three tickets, which meant they could all go see the play together and he smiled a big smile at his Gran and said thank you, it would be so much fun for them, and his Gran said for _him_ \--look at the tickets again, Billy, and he heard Margaret giggle and he read the tickets to discover they were single tickets for three different plays and he stared at his Gran and said _three_? And his Gran smiled and said yes, the best way for him to learn beyond what he could get at the Dolphin Art Centre was to see as many as he could, and this was a start, and Billy said but, to go alone? And his Gran said he could take the train in himself, he’d done that before, but she would pick him up afterwards as they probably let out rather late, and Billy nodded, still a little stunned, and Margaret leaned over to look at them and ask were they good plays, and Billy nodded quickly and said oh, yes, _As You Like It_ , _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , and _The Threepenny Opera_ , they were wonderful, they were exactly what he would have chosen to go see, they really were, and then Billy got to his feet and hurried over to give his Gran a heartfelt kiss on the cheek and he said thank you, Gran, thank you so much, and his Gran squeezed his hand and said he was very welcome. Then she picked her photo album up off her lap and said now, why didn’t they go see about an early lunch since they hadn’t had much in the way of breakfast, and Billy quickly, loudly, said no--wait. And his Gran looked up at him inquiringly, and Billy again said wait, and then he said he had one more surprise for them--a present for them, and his Gran sat back again and Margaret said a present for both of them?

Suddenly, looking at Margaret, Billy didn’t know if he could do it, didn’t know if he could possibly sing more than one note, not with his singing still so tentative right now, not with Margaret looking up at him with every emotion written on her face, and probably tears in her eyes, and then he decided the only way he could do it was if he couldn’t see them, if they couldn’t see him, so he said wait right there, don’t move, and he turned to head out the door, and then he turned back and pointed a firm finger at Margaret and said don’t move an inch, promise to stay right there, and Margaret nodded, but Billy said no, promise, and confused, Margaret said she promised, so Billy went out into the hall and stood there for a moment breathing deeply with his eyes closed, feeling ridiculously afraid now that it came down to it, but he really wanted to do this, especially for Margaret, so he took in a full breath and started to sing _Adeste Fidelis_.

It started quite softly at first, hesitant and wavering, but he was quickly able to increase the volume so they could hear in the other room, and he clearly heard Margaret gasp and he prayed she remembered her promise to stay right where she was and she must have because she didn’t come tearing out as he continued to sing, and his voice grew louder and stronger as he went on, and he went from _Adeste Fidelis_ to _Angels We Have Heard On High_ , and he sang that one because it was the first one that came to mind but halfway through the first verse he began to panic a bit, because he’d forgotten about the long, light, rising and falling _glorias_ and he didn’t know if they were too much for him to start with, too much for his music that had been silent for months now, and when he got to the first _gloria_ , it was hard, he had to concentrate hard not to make a shambles of it, but he managed it, and the second one came a little easier, and the third easier still, and he was so glad when he got to the end because it hadn’t been too bad, and yet oddly enough he felt almost exhausted, so when he got to the end he just stood there, shaking like a leaf, almost unable to contain the torrents of emotion sweeping through him--joy, grief, relief, even still a little fear, although fear of what he wasn’t quite sure.

Then Margaret’s voice came from the sitting room, asking in a breaking voice if she could move now and Billy whispered yes, and then said it again louder so she could hear and seconds later she was running into his arms, so hard she knocked him back against the wall and she was sobbing into his jumper, her arms around his waist so tight he thought she might cut him in half but it was all right and he shushed her and soothed her, and it was more than all right and he wouldn’t have wanted her to let go even if she could have, which at the moment she couldn’t as she sobbed his name into his chest, crying Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy, just like she had the night he woke up and wasn’t empty anymore. Billy felt the completeness of it, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and wept into her hair and then she was shushing him, saying it’s all right, Billy, it’s all right, it’s home, see, Billy, God didn’t take it back, his music was home again and everything was all right again and she loved him and she was so happy his music was home again, and please don’t cry, Billy. So Billy tried to stop, and it took him a minute, but finally he had it under control and he sniffled and he said he could sing again, Mar, and it was a bit hard, actually, but he could sing again, and Margaret said if it was hard, then he’d just have to practice, wouldn’t he, and Billy smiled a watery little smile into her hair and said he thought it drove her mad when he sang around the house all the time, and she said it used to, yeah, but she didn’t see how it ever could again, and Billy hugged her tighter.

Their Gran came slowly from the sitting room, and she walked over to where Billy and Margaret still embraced, leaning against the wall, and wordlessly, simply, Billy’s Gran took his head between her hands and firmly kissed the top of his head, and then she quietly said come, children, and at that moment neither Billy nor Margaret minded in the least being called children, and she said time for some lunch, and perhaps Billy could use a hot cocoa. It wasn’t until then that Billy realized he was shaking still, and he let go of Margaret with one arm to drag his sleeve across his face and they followed their Gran to the kitchen.

The rest of Christmas Day was spent quietly, as Billy had known it would be. They had lunch at the table in the kitchen, and Billy’s Gran made him some cocoa and soon he stopped shaking and Margaret smiling at him every five minutes made him feel better too, and if she told him once she told him eighteen times that he should sing whenever he felt like it, maybe his music needed a little exercise before it would grow stronger and Billy teased her that it wasn’t a muscle, numptie, and Margaret stuck her tongue out at him and offered him the last of her pudding.

After lunch Margaret sat down to read _Sense and Sensibility_ , one of her new set of books, and Billy sat down to read through the programme for _As You Like It_ , and he discovered it was the programme for the entire season, which was why it was so thick, and so he was able to read the details for all three shows he was going to see, and he looked again at the tickets to see when they were and saw that the first one was only days away and he started looking forward to it right then and there.

The telephone rang, and after a few minutes Billy’s Gran called him, and when he went to the kitchen she said it was his uncle, calling to wish him a Happy Christmas, and Billy took the phone from her and said hello, and wished his uncle a Happy Christmas in return, and when his uncle asked if their day had been all right, knowing not to ask if it had been good, Billy said yeah, it’s been all right, a few rough moments, but it’s actually been all right, and his uncle said good, and he was glad, and he’d been thinking about them all morning, and Billy didn’t know what to say except thank you, and his uncle told him if he needed anything, if he ever needed anything, especially since he was surrounded by women, Billy should call, and he would do whatever he could, and would Billy promise to call if he needed anything? And Billy said yes, he promised, and he said thank you again, and his uncle said of course, Billy, and was Margaret around, he wanted to say hello, so Billy turned to go get her but his Gran must have already because Margaret was standing right behind him, so her handed her the phone.

All afternoon relatives kept calling to wish them Happy Christmas, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and some of them were calling from America, and some of them called every year but some of them usually didn’t and Billy knew they were calling to check on them after the horrid, horrid year he and Margaret had endured, and he didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry, they didn’t usually call and it seemed morbid in a way to call now, like watching the aftermath of an automobile accident, but then Billy remembered _Confido_ , I trust, and his anger slipped away, and he talked to most of them to say thank you. He missed a few calls, though, when he dragged Margaret outside in the cold watery sunshine to have a bit of a kickabout with his new football. He wrapped the Rangers scarf around his neck and he knew that pleased Margaret, and they walked to the little park down the road and kicked the football around some, although Margaret gave up after a while because she wasn’t a very good keeper, and she sat on top of the battered metal slide and watched him and yelled teasing words at him as he ran back and forth and controlled the ball most of the time with his quick feet, and most of the teasing words were shouted when the ball got away from him, of course, and since the sun was out, even if it was sadly weak, Billy and Margaret stayed in the park for almost an hour, and it felt good to be out of the house and to pretend for a little while that they were carefree kids having a bit of fun.

When they finally headed for home, scuffing along the sidewalk, Billy told Margaret the story about her necklace, how their relatives in America and elsewhere had sent money along with lovely letters when their dad died, and that the money was for them, for him and Margaret, and their mum had used some of it on Billy’s guitar, since it was something she knew he needed, something to help his music grow again, but she had been waiting to see what Margaret needed. So Margaret’s money was still there, and when Billy had come up with the idea of the necklace he’d gone to their Gran and asked what she thought, and their Gran had suggested using a little bit of Margaret’s money for a good necklace, one that would last, because they both thought it was maybe something Margaret needed, and might need in the future, a link to her little brother no matter what. Margaret was quiet for a moment before saying yes, yes she did need it, rather, and Billy took her hand as they walked, and Margaret suddenly wondered out loud if they’d done it again, and Billy asked if who’d done what again, and she said if their relatives had sent money again, when their mum died, and Billy was a little stunned at the idea, he hadn’t even thought about it and he said he’d ask Gran, but he figured they probably had, and he said but if there was more money it was going into the bank for her so she could go to university if she wanted to, because she did want to, didn’t she? Margaret protested she was only fifteen, but Billy shook his head and said she wanted to go to uni, didn’t she, and Margaret would only say maybe but that was good enough for Billy and he said their dad had very much wanted her to go too, so she was going, and Margaret asked what about him, and Billy shrugged and said he didn’t know, really, but he wasn’t really cut out for school the way she was, so he figured he’d probably just get a job. And no matter how much Margaret pleaded or cajoled or threatened, Billy refused to discuss it any further.

The next day, Boxing Day, Billy’s aunt and uncle and cousins came over from Edinburgh for a visit after lunch, and oddly enough Billy was looking forward to it because he knew his uncle would have brought a really nice present for his Gran, and he thought she deserved it because this Christmas had been awfully hard for her, too, and yet she’d seemed so focused on Billy and Margaret. He wanted someone to focus on her for a bit, but he just didn’t know how to do that, not for her, and he knew his aunt and his uncle could, even if it was only for the afternoon. Besides, his cousins were kind of fun to hang out with, even if two of them were several years older than he was, and they all trooped up to his room, because it was a bit bigger than Margaret’s, and they closed the door and lounged around fiddling with some of Billy’s old toys and Billy’s oldest cousin asked if she could borrow two of his books, and it wasn’t until they’d been in there for nearly twenty minutes that Billy realized Margaret wasn’t there, and he went to get her, assuming she’d stayed in the sitting room with the adults. So Billy went downstairs to the sitting room, but Margaret wasn’t there, and she wasn’t in the kitchen, and he went back up the stairs to her room and knocked on the closed door and when there was no answer he knocked again and turned the handle and poked his head in to see Margaret lying on her bed, facing the wall, so Billy walked in and closed the door and asked if she was all right, and he was a little startled when she tearfully, angrily told him to go away. Instead of leaving, Billy went over and sat on the edge of the bed beside her and asked if she was mad at him and when Margaret muttered what did he care, Billy said he cared a lot, actually, so would she quit being such a daftie and tell him what was wrong, and he was a little confused and taken aback when she cried she wasn’t invisible, she was tired of people acting like she was invisible, she was sick of it. Billy thought hard and fast and slowly said he knew she wasn’t invisible, and did she feel like _he_ acted that way? And Margaret sniffled very quietly like she was trying to hide it and said he wasn’t as bad as everyone else, but sometimes he did, he talked for her like she wasn’t even there, like she couldn’t put two words together herself, and maybe she was a little shy but she wasn’t completely gormless, and Billy smiled at that but asked who else treated her like she was invisible, and she snapped everybody, they--and Billy gathered she meant the adults--talked about her like she wasn’t even there, like she was a little girl and she bloody well wasn’t a little girl, and then he and the others had gone upstairs and never once looked behind to see if she was coming, to ask her if she wanted to come, to tell her she was welcome. And Billy felt very bad indeed, and he wondered if any of it was because she was missing their mum, because he’d bet Margaret would say their mum had never treated her like she was invisible, their mum had had a knack of making Billy and Margaret feel so very important, and now he wasn’t sure what to say to make it even a little better, so he just said this was her house too and she was always welcome in any room at any time, and then he smiled and said well, maybe not the bathroom, not at _any_ old time, and Margaret gave a little snort, encouraging Billy, and he said she was always welcome in his room especially, any time she wanted, and if he wanted to be alone for a bit or had a mate over or whatever, he’d tell her so she would know. And then he thought maybe she needed a bit more reassurance, so he said you and me, Mar, remember? Margaret rolled over, then, and looked up at Billy and whispered you and me, Billy, and then Billy grinned and said if she ever wanted to say something and he was talking for her again, then she should just give him a clout upside the ear, yeah? And Margaret finally smiled and said all right, but he’d better not forget he said that, because she would do it, and Billy said somehow he’d thought she would, and then he asked if she would come back to his room with him, and Margaret said maybe in a bit as she wiped her face, and Billy nodded and said whenever she wanted, and he left.

After a little while Margaret joined Billy and their three cousins, still lounging about in Billy’s room, but they were starting to get bored so the eldest suggested they should get out for a bit, maybe go get a ‘Bru and hang out, and Billy had to remind them it was a bit of a walk to any of the shops that might be open and she shrugged and said so, they had all afternoon, so they all trooped downstairs and clattered about getting coats and gloves and shoes and Billy’s uncle called to be back by four and his three cousins chorused yes, dad, and they were off out of the house and down the street. Billy’s oldest cousin waited for Margaret and walked beside her and after a few minutes, the two girls, despite the difference in age, were talking animatedly about books and Billy thanked whatever it was out there in the universe that he seemed to keep talking to that his cousin was a bookworm too, for Margaret looked much happier than she had earlier, and he knew it made her feel so much better to have someone--especially someone so much older than she was--not only listen to her but actually be interested in what she was saying, and Billy resolved that he’d try to not just spend time with Margaret, but actually really talk to her, help her remember she was really smart and maybe she’d be a little more sure of herself. He thought just because she was older than he was, didn't necessarily mean she needed him any less. And then Billy wondered if other blokes his age worried about their sisters so much, and he rather doubted it and started to feel a little odd about it, but then he realized other blokes had parents to worry over their sisters and if he didn’t worry over Margaret and watch out for her, then who would? Well, Gran would some, but much as she loved Margaret, their Gran didn’t know her like he did, and he felt satisfied that it was just the right thing to do, really, and then he heard someone call his name and saw that he had lagged a little behind the others and he jogged to catch up.

Three days later, Billy prepared to make the walk down to the train station to buy his ticket in to the city centre for the first of his three plays, and his Gran made sure he knew exactly where the theatre was and how to get there from the Queen St. train station and she made him repeat it back to her twice which nearly made Billy roll his eyes, and if it had been his mum he probably would have rolled his eyes but Billy didn’t dare with his Gran, he just repeated the directions back to her and agreed to wait directly in front of the main doors for her afterwards. So Billy hiked down Springboig Road to the Shettleston station and purchased his ticket and walked outside to sit on the bench, curling his hands in his pockets against the damp cold, and even though it was already dark it was still only just after dinner and there were lots of people waiting for the train, but even more disembarking when the outbound train arrived at the platform opposite, and Billy watched all those people slowly, tiredly climb the stairs to the road above, or to climb back down on his side of the tracks to get to their cars sitting cold and fogged up in the car park, and Billy couldn’t help but wonder if that would be him in ten years, twenty years, thirty years, taking the train to and from some boring job in the city (if he was lucky) or in one of the industrial parks surrounding it, coming home after dark looking tired and wan and miserable, and a shiver ran through him at the thought. So instead, Billy turned his thoughts to the play he was going to see, the first of his three, and this one was _As You Like It_ and he did enjoy Shakespeare ever so much, and he knew it was a smaller theatre he was going to so he wasn’t exactly expecting the Royal Shakespeare Company, he’d just be glad if it was a notch above what they could have done at the Dolphin Art Centre. His Gran had been right when she’d said the best way for him to learn was to experience, and he knew simply seeing how they staged, lit, costumed the play, would teach him as much as the actors themselves portrayed, there were so many tricks one could employ beyond the acting itself to direct the audience’s focus where one wanted it to go, and Billy looked forward to trying to spot them, to see just how much he’d really learned at the Centre.

The train finally arrived, and with curls of anticipation beginning in his stomach, Billy stepped on and found himself a seat right next to the window, not that he could see anything but lights sliding past anyway, and it suddenly struck him as a little odd that his Gran was helping him to learn more about the theatre. He wondered if she realized that as much as music had always (hopefully would be again) been such an integral part of his life, his real dream, the one way out in the mists beyond the reach of the tips of his fingers, was to be an actor. He wondered if she knew that, if she would still be sending him to see these plays as his Christmas present if she knew, or if she would be afraid he would abandon all common sense and decide to fritter his life away on something so intangible, so unreliable as a life as an actor. Billy thought she very probably would have bought him plain boring old clothes for Christmas instead.

The train finally arrived at the Queen St. station and Billy walked out and down the steps to cross the street to George Square, and he’d been there before of course, walking through with his mum and then he tried not to think of that as he glanced at the fenced-in grass, the tall obelisk in the center of the large paved Square, and instead he thought about how he’d never been there after dark before, and it looked so different with the streetlights and all the lights on the City Chambers and the headlights and red taillights of the traffic going past. Billy walked kitty-corner through the Square to the sidewalk on the other side, across at the lights, following the route his Gran had quizzed him on, checking his watch every so often to make sure he wasn’t going to be late because he didn’t want to miss a second of the play, but he had plenty of time so he slowed down a bit and enjoyed the novelty of being on his own in the city after dark. He wasn’t worried about it, he wasn’t afraid because it was only six-thirty and there was still so much traffic and so many people hurrying past, but as he looked at all the alleyways and closes he passed, he was a little glad that his Gran was picking him up afterwards because passing those in the silent stillness at ten at night might have made him a bit tense. Billy didn’t think he was a coward, but he was realistic, and he knew he was a little on the small side and that the east end of the city centre that he was traveling through was disputed territory, and the last thing Margaret and his Gran needed was for Billy’s Christmas present to result in him getting the utter shite kicked out of him by a gang member out to prove himself, and actually, it was rather the last thing _he_ needed, come to mention it, so Billy enjoyed the early evening walk but was content at the thought of being picked up at the end of the play. Finally he arrived at the theatre, walked into the brightly lit lobby, and savoured the feeling, the anticipation of watching a play he’d read but never seen before, and he strolled around, looking at past and present production photos hanging on the walls as other patrons came through the doors, and then fifteen minutes before the curtain Billy went to the men’s room and then walked up the stairs to the balcony and was given another copy of the program, exactly like the one he’d unwrapped a few days ago, and was pointed towards his seat, and with butterflies in his stomach Billy wondered when his Gran had bought the tickets because she’d gotten him just about the best seat she could have, on the aisle in the front row, right behind the rail. When he sat down, Billy found the rail was actually at rather an annoying height, cutting off the bottom of the stage from his viewpoint, so he leaned forward and leaned his arms along the round brass rail and leaned his chin on his arms, and that was just perfect especially as the seat behind him was empty and he didn’t have to worry that he was maybe blocking anyone’s view. So Billy sat up again and looked at the program one more time even though he’d looked at it probably a dozen times in the past three days, until the house lights went down and then he tucked the program under his leg and leaned forward and the curtain opened and for the next two and a half hours Billy sat rapt, caught up in the acting and enthralled with the scenery, the costumes, the lighting, soaking it all in, fascinated by how they made the blocking serve the dialogue and the careful intricacy of the entrances and exits of all the many characters with their misunderstandings and arguments and confusions, and of course the boisterous ending where all turned out well, because after all it was a comedy. And then Billy was applauding enthusiastically and the house lights came up and Billy, feeling lighter and happier and more excited than he had in--oh, in months, really, before his mum died, anyway, and even that thought didn’t dim his enjoyment because he knew, just _knew_ that his mum would have been thrilled to see the shine in his eyes and the pleasure on his face and he didn’t want to disappoint her by letting it fade already, so he kept it close and he went outside and waited right in front of the main doors for his Gran just like he’d promised, and when she pulled up and he quickly hopped into the car and she asked him if he’d enjoyed it, Billy began chattering and he didn’t stop until they were home, telling his Gran every detail about how marvellous it had been. His Gran nodded, and made all the right noises at all the right places, and every time she glanced over at Billy all the lines in her face softened at the sight of his delight. She smiled at him, and Billy thought she looked glad he was so excited, and maybe she wouldn’t have bought him boring old clothes for Christmas after all, even if she had known about his plans.

 

 

 

New Year’s Eve that year, that first year without their mum, was the first one Billy and Margaret had ever spent alone, and it was at Billy’s insistence that they did at all. Billy’s Gran was not very keen on the idea but Billy had curiously asked her what she usually did for Hogmanay and she said she used to spend the evening with some friends from kirk, so he insisted she do that again and he and Margaret would have a night for just the two of them, that it would be good for them. His Gran started to refuse but Billy reminded her that Margaret was fifteen and a half now and was old enough and responsible enough, and besides she’d only be gone a matter of hours, it wasn’t like she was leaving them overnight, they’d be fine, they honestly would, and his Gran would only say she would think about it, but the next day she said all right, but only if both he and Margaret were sure they wouldn’t mind being alone for Hogmanay. So that afternoon Billy walked down to the store and bought a couple bags of crisps and a bottle of Irn Bru and later they all had dinner together for the last time in that terrible year, and then Billy’s Gran went to change and she said goodbye and Happy New Year to Margaret who was reading in her room, and downstairs in the kitchen Billy’s Gran gave him a bag of sweets that she’d bought as a treat for them for Hogmanay with a warning that they weren’t to eat them all, and she departed to go spend the evening with her friends.

Billy left Margaret to read for a bit and he watched some TV, and half of him was occupied by the rather stupid show that was on, and the other half of him was quiet and still and absorbing the silence of the house as he carefully let thoughts of the next year in. Because the next year would be so very different from any he’d lived up until then, and he couldn’t see how it would end, and then he supposed no one ever could really, after all his mum certainly hadn’t seen that _her_ year would end long before the end of the year, and Billy thought maybe he should just try and see how it would _start_ , maybe he could figure out how to start off this new year that, stretching before him, at the moment really seemed rather frightening. And then Billy remembered something a friend of his mum and dad’s had said, something about how you start the year is how you’ll end it, and at first that thought made Billy a little angry, and quite sad, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought maybe that was it, maybe that was what he and Margaret needed to make the night not so bad after all, and Billy began to plan.

Half an hour later Billy knocked on Margaret’s door and opened it when he heard her muffled invitation, to see her curled up in the corner of her bed with her book and her favourite stuffed animal under her chin and tear streaks on her face, and he went over to sit beside her and he gently, kindly asked her if she had been sitting up here making herself miserable, and when she nodded and fresh tears sprang to her eyes, he asked if she’d like a hug, and she immediately buried her face in his jumper. So Billy put his arms around her and hugged her tightly and let her get his jumper wet, and when she turned her face and whispered would he sing for her, sing one of their dad’s songs, Billy didn’t hesitate and he quietly began to sing _Somewhere Beyond the Sea_ , and at first Margaret’s thin shoulders shook with her tears, but she soon calmed and Billy thought it wasn’t so much the song as just the fact that he was hugging her and he was singing to her, and not for the first time he found himself a bit surprised at Margaret’s intense concern for his music and her desire to have him singing again, not to mention the fact that she seemed to find comfort in it, considering it used to be a bit of a bone of contention between them. He sang _The Mist Covered Mountains_ for her next, singing it in English, and as he sang he thought of how his dad had begun to teach him the Gaelic, _Chì Mi Na Mórbheanna_ , but they’d never finished, and Billy thought when his music was a little stronger, he’d try and learn the rest even though it would be hard without his dad to help. When he had finished, Margaret gave him an extra hard squeeze around the waist and said she thought that was probably her very favourite, which surprised him a bit for some reason, and he said he’d remember that, and she wiped her face and sat up and with a weak little smile said thank you Billy, and he said anytime, squirt, and her smile was a little less weak after that, and Billy got up and beckoned her to follow and said to come with him.

Billy led her downstairs to the sitting room where he’d set up the Monopoly board and had put some of the crisps in a bowl and poured two glasses of Irn Bru, and Margaret said oh, no, not Monopoly, even though she was smiling as she said it, and then she said she _always_ lost at Monopoly, she didn’t think she’d ever won a game in her life, and Billy grinned at her and said she might very well win that night, because he had a new strategy and it was a bit of a risky one and he didn’t know if it was going to work, and besides, if she lost then he promised they could play Scrabble next and she always kicked his arse at that, didn’t she? And Margaret giggled and said deal, because yes, she always beat him silly at Scrabble, so with the TV on for some background noise and to remind them to keep an eye on the time, Billy and Margaret laid on their stomachs on the carpet, propped up on cushions, and played Monopoly, and Margaret quickly sussed out Billy’s new strategy, which was to only buy every _other_ property he landed on, and she pronounced it daft and was proven right by halfway through when she was already building houses and he was still trying to get a full set of any colour. Billy made a face and said so much for that strategy, that one was right bollocksed, and Margaret laughed at him and said she rather liked it, actually, and then shrieked when Billy threatened to flick her houses across the room, and by the end of the game Margaret was pleased to finally win her first game of Monopoly and Billy good-naturedly grumbled she just had all the luck, that was all, and Billy made her put the game away while he went to get more crisps and ginger, and when he returned to the sitting room the Monopoly had disappeared but Scrabble was set up in its place, and Billy complained that he’d only promised to play if she _lost_ Monopoly, but she hadn’t exactly lost, had she, oh no, she’d felt the need to completely humiliate him and now she wanted to do it again? And Margaret laughed and told him to quit his whinging and lie down, so Billy continued his griping and grousing and laid himself out on his pillows again, wolfing down a handful of crisps as Margaret condescendingly told him she would let him go first to give him a fighting chance. Billy lunged across the board to tickle her sides until she squealed for mercy, and then while she lay on her back giggling, trying to catch her breath, Billy collected the scattered tiles and made sure they were all face down before picking his out. As he laid them on their little slider, he suddenly groaned, and Margaret looked up with glee and said he got the Q, didn’t he? And it took her less than half an hour to trounce him soundly, but even the niggling worry that his vocabulary wasn’t what it should be wasn't enough to spoil the pleasure he took in seeing his big sister smile like that.

As Margaret tidied the tiles away into their box, Billy went and fetched the sweets their Gran had given them, and flopped on the sofa, and after a moment Margaret joined him, choosing a chocolate lime and popping it in her mouth. Around the sweet, she asked him when he was going to see his next play, and when Billy said in a month, she nodded, her eyes on the telly. Then she said she'd been thinking, and Billy nearly teased her, nearly said something about that being a first, or he could smell the smoke, but he realized she was serious, and he so he just said about what? Margaret said she was going to get a part time job, just to help out around the house a bit, because she was nearly sixteen now and it was time she tried to help Gran out more. Billy looked at his sister, and for the first time she looked older than him, she looked almost like an adult at that moment, and it made Billy feel very young indeed. He said that their Gran wouldn't let her go to work yet, not with university ahead and so much schoolwork in between and besides--and Billy could hear his voice getting plaintive, but he couldn't help it--besides, they were doing all right, weren't they? Margaret sighed, and she shifted up on the sofa to put her arm over his shoulders, and she said she wasn't stupid, she knew things had been tight even before their mum died, and Gran's old age pension wasn't enormous. A friend of Margaret's worked at a hair salon and they were hiring someone to do some sweeping and mopping up, and the job was hers if she wanted it, and Margaret said she was going to take it. And besides, she added, it would be nice to have a bit of dosh of her own, without having to take it away from Billy and Gran.

Billy thought about how he'd told his mum he could get a job, and how she'd been adamant he should not, not at the age of thirteen, and he wondered if fourteen was any better. And then he thought how it probably wouldn't have been if she was still with them, but of course everything was different now, everything that had been had changed when she died. And Billy found himself looking up at Margaret and saying he could get a paper route, it wasn't much but it was something and lots of blokes at school had paper routes and as soon as Hogmanay was over he'd find out how to get one.


End file.
